If I Were A Horse

I had my semi-annual dentist appointment recently, and you know what? Hey Ma! No cavities!

I had a rather chatty hygienist, which is a bit tricky, what with all the equipment in my mouth most of the time. I was also getting ribbed--okay, I have a magpie's fascination with sparkly and shiny things, so my purse is silver, and my ubiquitous iPod is encased in silver metal and encrusted in rhinestones.

I was also wearing purple. No surprise there--I love purple. I wear a lot of purple. Purple is my happy color--make it sparkly, and I'm totally there. So, my hygienist, who was somewhat older than I am, was noticing my shinies, and she mentioned my purple. "And you aren't even 40!" she said, obviously thinking about the poem about "when I am an old woman, I shall wear purple. . . ."

Well, as much as I refuse to admit it, I am indeed 40--I am actually 45 at this point. So I said so. She was gratifyingly surprised, and blurted something out about how I didn't look it.

Now, don't I have to take this seriously, given that she had been working on my teeth for about 30 minutes by that point? I mean, that's how you tell how old a horse is--by checking its teeth. That's why the adage says "don't look a gift horse in the mouth"--if it's a gift, you don't need to care how old it is.

So, if I were a horse, I'd still let you look at my teeth. I guess.