Due to all the inbreeding, malnutrition, curses put on me by junior varsity football players and whatnot, I have what they call in the orthodonture world a “jacked-up grill”.
Tip for the people of the British Isles, roundabout 250 years ago when my ancestors were still farting around there: Find people to bang who aren’t your siblings.
Nobody’s saying hands-off the second cousins, but maybe lay off the first cousins for a few generations, at least until the teeth start looking human. Oh, and a couple hundred years later when someone wants to put fluoride in the drinking water? LET THEM DO IT.
The top teeth are mostly okay, but the bottom look sort of like those sticks they put up around the wall in Game of Thrones to keep the White Walkers out. While this setup may be useful for impaling the rotting, re-animated corpses that are coming to destroy your world, it doesn’t do much for the ol’ self-esteem when someone goes to take your picture and says, “Smile!” and then you smile with your mouth closed, and then they say, “No, really smile!” and then you smile with teeth and they scream, drop the camera, run away, and jump into a pool of lava.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve gotten a lot of free cameras that way. The jacked-up grill is not without its merits.
Besides all the free cameras, the jacked-up grill is useful for any number of things, ranging from receiving genuine sympathy while panhandling outside of ZZ Top concerts all the way to winning the spokesmodel category every year at the plutonium-enrichment factory’s “Employee Star Search”.
Heck, people give me a hell of a lot more credit than I deserve for my jug band, especially considering I’ve never been in one. Any time I jump a freight train to the hills with my carny friends and pick up a banjo made of a bedpan tied to a broomstick, at least half of the contestants drop out of the Hobo Skills Challenge on the spot.
Not everyone has that kind of privilege, I know. I’m sure that both the completely toothless AND Sloth from The Goonies see my teeth as a thing to aspire to. I’m not ungrateful.
So! It is with great longwindedness that I tell you I’m finally getting them fixed, or as I refer to it when I’m feeling emo and perimenopausal, “Killing my entire identity.”
I’m getting Invisalign this week. My orthodontist said that either traditional braces or Invisalign would give me the same results (at the same price and duration) given my particular situation, so my vanity went with the option that won’t make me look like a nerd. My apologies if you have traditional braces, as I do not mean to offend any of you nerds.
I’ve researched this for a long time and have already signed the contract, so please refrain from nay-saying this decision, unless you fear you may die if you don’t say something. Let’s keep the horror stories to a minimum for the sake of my insomnia. It won’t do me any good to hear about that time Invisalign dumped you for your best friend and the two of them ran off and became a successful country music duo leaving you with nothing but an empty trailer and a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort in which to drown your sorrows. Unless you’ve already put it to music.
The good news is that I’ll be writing about my experience with Invisalign from time to time to let you know how it’s going – and you know I’ll be giving you the good, the bad, and the ugly. Obviously this is not a paid endorsement situation, as who the hell would pay me to review anything, so I will absolutely tell you if it’s great, if it sucks, or if the trays migrate up into my brain and wipe out all of my tween memories of reading The Babysitters Club while listening to Roxette.
You can really tell who the weirdos are by whether they see the title of this post as being related to The Lion King due to the first word, or related to that other movie due to the second word.
You weirdo, weirdo, weirdos.