There’s an alarming thing happening to me and my thirtysomething friends. I suppose the biological clock is ticking and we’re all starting to obsess a little about the fact we’re running out of time. Yep, dental hygiene is my new hobby.

I’d always thought I would be someone who was fairly relaxed about getting old and looking a little aged, but as it’s creeping up, I realise that it’s actually horrendous. Horrendous. I wouldn’t mind so much if there weren’t all these younger, more attractive people everywhere making me feel worse about it all.

I am suddenly smarming myself in oil every night in an attempt to self-embalm, I’m wearing SPF every day in a vain attempt to try and make up for all those years of soaking up the sun — and, unexpectedly — I’m spending inordinate amounts of money on toothpaste, toothbrushes, interdental brushes, floss, breath spray and mouth wash.

I’ve even bought one of those little dental kits complete with mirror and pick. My teeth have never looked so good so: in your face, age. I’m going to be 70 years old with sparkling white, super strong gnashers. Or, at least, that’s what I’m desperately working towards when I spend around 30 minutes a day brushing, flossing and polishing my teeth to perfection in an effort to keep them forever young. I WILL NOT HAVE DENTURES.

With the same enthusiasm many other women have for clothes shopping, I find myself lingering in the dental aisles of supermarkets and pharmacies to see what new, exciting products are available. I snap up anti gum-bleeding products with the same glee I used to reserve for cute little ankle boots. Perhaps my obsession is spurred on by the fact my best friend is similarly hooked on all things tooth-related.

With her, the panic-induced sudden interest kicked off after her enthusiasm for coffee threatened to affect her teeth.

Last week we spent a good chunk of our afternoon together shopping for two sizes of dental brushes which, if you haven’t used them, are like teeny tiny pipe cleaners that slip between your teeth and are inexplicably satisfying to use. We spent most of the evening catching up over dinner and drinks and then, curiously, spent a good hour or so chatting and flossing back at my place. It really was a great evening. Apparently dental hygiene is my idea of fun.

I spent a lot of my twenties thinking about how boring it must be to get to your thirties and suddenly not want to go out until 6am, sleep in your make-up and get up the next day and do it all again. But, thankfully, you’re glad for a change of mindset when it comes and, taking a little care of yourself becomes something you want to do. I have no hesitation in admitting this is a sad state of affairs, but a little pampering (read desperately trying to conserve my youth) is much more appealing than an all-nighter. Not only to cling on to my rapidly fading youth (sigh), but also because I’ve had one too many wake-up calls — like those mornings I wake up after a late night and I’m covered in wrinkles — for a moment I think I’ve ruined my face forever and then, I drink a big glass of water and all those wrinkles fill out. Is that just me?

Either way, I’m glad that my thirties have brought a sense of self-preservation with them, even if it does mean I’m dropping more money on teeth-cleaning products than I am on my electricity bills and my bed sheets are permanently stained from all that excess oil on them. Sure, there’s a slight panic about me, but I’d rather indulge in a little panicked flossing and moisturising than end up looking like Mick Jagger when I’m 40. Please, please don’t let me look like Mick Jagger when I’m 40 — applies another layer of thick moisturiser.