His Teeth Are Wrong

His teeth are wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on what was specifically wrong about his teeth, but she could tell that they were definitely wrong. She stared into his mouth as he talked incessantly about this and that, growing increasingly unnerved by the whole thing. She watched his teeth clatter together as he enunciated increasingly superfluous words, tuning out his nasally whine and hearing only the scrape of enamel against itself. She thought of that riddle she had read in a book so very long ago. "Thirty white horses on a red hill". She began to count his teeth as that stupid rictus smile etched itself upon his face. One, two, three, fo-her count was interrupted as she started talking again, about what she couldn't even begin to fathom. The whole world was nothing but his mouth and his awful, disgusting teeth. She wanted to scream. She wanted to smash those fucking teeth out of his head. She hated those teeth. Hated them with every fiber of her being. Those goddamn teeth. Mocking her. Laughing at her in their scraping voices. She thought about taking some pliers and ripping those teeth out and laughing at them one by one, that would show them. She'd grind those teeth into powder, that's what she'd do. Those fucking teeth. Thirty white horses. Why were they in his mouth? Why would horses be in his mouth? He had to get those horses out of his mouth. She-she had to get those horses out of his mouth! Thirty white horses! Teeth! Those FUCKING TEETH! Still clattering! Still mocking her! WHY were they wrong? Were they slanted? Did he have snaggletooth? Where was the PROBLEM? She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, she was so angry at those teeth. And then they were gone. Hidden by a curtain of meat. She blinked, reality slowly seeping back into the corner of her vision. She stared at her husband from across the dinner table.