Crooked Teeth: Death Cab and Emily

When one follows the directions of professionals (whether they be dental or medical), to the letter, and their advice and techniques don't work, where is the justice? I know they're not omniscient, but they've had a good deal more knowledge instilled in them through heavily funded Universities than I have. Moreover, they are profiting from my pain.

My braces were removed in the 8th Grade. I remember the day with joy. You could liken my pre-existence to the monstrous hunch of a self-conscious shadow. My now constant worry that I have something in my teeth can be directly traced to this horrific time.

BRACES.

Thankfully, early adolescence is the time for most boys and girls to be hideous, so comparatively, it's not that terrible. I was determined to follow my orthodontist's instructions to the letter. I had had too many pieces of food stuck in my metal and cried too many salt tears over pain and pure ugliness to experience the process again. I was going to have straight, pearly white teeth FOREVER. I wore my retainer every night until they told me I could wear them once every two nights. That is what I did...until now.

I watched as my friends ignored the directions of their orthodontists and boasted to me that they "never wore their retainer." I would think to myself..."those poor saps. They don't realize that they're only hurting their future beauty." Unfortunately, my superior attitude was completely inappropriate. Their teeth remained straight. Mine slowly started to shift. The shift of creeping, insidious ruin.

I finally gave in...and went to an orthodontist.

Next week, I will be the possessor of a brand new, permanent retainer on my bottom teeth and a new upper retainer. I will spend upwards of $500 to choke off the ubiquitous surge of disloyal teeth.

I could have purchased a bike. Or an ipod. Or a bike and an ipod. Damn you, teeth.