Getting long in the tooth

I won't go on about my teeth, but another visit to my dentist today convinced me that I need a break from his Black and Decker drill and his tube of Polyfilla. Don't misunderstand me, he is a wonderful dentist, and his dental nurse, Penny, is a cracker.
No, it's the realisation that Upper Left Five, about which I have spoken ruefully before, will end up costing me the equivalent of a six-month holiday in the Seychelles, with no guarantee that the problem will then be solved. The worst of it is that Upper Left Five has had a deleterious effect on Upper Left Four, the premolar which was, until my last visit, keeping me safe from the Occlusal Disharmony that now plagues me. It's as if I have someone else's teeth in my mouth now.
I'd go for a total extraction and the fitting of dentures, but I am deterred by the story of the little girl who, seeing her grandfather's false teeth on his bedside table, remarked: "The Tooth Fairy is going to freak out when she sees this lot!"
Mind you, prodi miei, I still have a winning smile, crooked but endearingly insincere. Like a banker's, if you know what I mean.