I have wonky teeth. They’re a family heirloom. The top ones overlap each other in the centre; if a perfect smile looks like a piano keyboard, then my middle C is a D flat. Discordant, in other words. But I don’t mind them.
Not only would it require excessive time, money and pain to get them fixed, but I feel proud to carry on a family tradition. My father has wonky teeth; his father before him had wonky teeth; his father before him had wonky teeth; and his father before him had sex with a camel. Thus the origin of...