What in the hell possessed me to watch BBC America's "Britain's Worst Teeth"? Maybe I thought seeing the worst mouths in the UK would make me feel less bad about my own horrid choppers? (It didn't.) Honestly, I don't know why I put myself through that. But I got halfway through the program—and nobody does bad teeth like the Brits—and the boyfriend yelled at me to turn it off. Apparently I was sitting there, glued to the set, eyes wide open, with my hand clasped firmly across my mouth.
One girl was left with only nubs for teeth due to a teenage bout with bulimia (the acid rots away the enamel). A brother and sister had mangled, MacGowan-like mouths that caused them to live like hermits—both were petrified of dentists and had to be hypnotized before they'd even consider going. Another woman ate piles of sugar every day, which had rotted her teeth to the point where she couldn't even get laid. It was horrifying. The show set each of them up with cosmetic dentists, but I had to turn it off, so I don't know what happened in the end. I hope they all got their teeth fixed—damn, I wish a TV show would pay to fix my teeth. Maybe they can do a sequel—"Brooklyn's Worst Teeth?"
In other news, my Seattle column about stalking is up online.