Last night, a shopping trip to Target yielded, among other very necessary sundries, a new DVD. I "casually" made mention that I would like to see same later in the evening. He understands that my "I" is a "plural I" and by "I" I mean "we". I (singular) get The Look.
After "casually" mentioning it a second time, I'm officially given The Heisman.
My sister hired a new babysitter for my niece and nephew last night, our cousin Amy.
My niece is very fond of Amy (it's been said Sarah asked how old Amy was "because she is her new friend"). For the record, Amy is 22.
Over the course of the evening, Sarah saw that Amy was playing/messing with with her tongue. I can only imagine the conversation went something like, What's that?, It's my tongue ring, What's a tongue ring?, It's like an earring for your tongue, Why do you have that there?, Because I like it there...(etc., etc.)
As Sarah's night came to a close, it was teethbrushing time which Amy dutifully supervised. During the brushing, Sarah realized something wasn't quite right.
"Oh, I forgot to take this out," and placed a small, plastic clip-on earring covered in toothpaste from her mouth onto the bathroom sink.
Amy, a bit freaked, later told my sister, "I was thinking, 'Oh my Godddd, my cousin is going to *kill* me! She could have choked on that!'" My guess is Sarah cheeked the thing. Four year-olds are a tricky bunch.
The next morning, Sarah had a bunch of questions for her mom, one of which included, "Why do some people get to have tatoos and tongue rings?"
As I told Kate (a woman who as Sarah says "has a leaf on her butt". (Kate: It's a shamrock!") on the phone this morning:
Which would explain why I am breaking out like "just-a-virgin-who-can't-drive" freshman.
And why I have braces,...
...for the third time. (count that out like the owl from the Tootsie Pop commercial, "Ah-one, Ah-two, Ah-three...Ah-three."
I call it "Braces V. 3.0 ed. 01/2007:This Time She's Serious. No, Really. Stop Laughing. I'm Not Kidding . ...Dude, Knock It Off. You Know What? You're Just Mean." (coming soon to a theater near you!)
The BEST part about getting braces on the last day of your 33rd year? Well, lots of things actually.
Like for starters, some 20 years later after getting your first set? You don't need to get 8 teeth yanked to do it. Nor do you require the sexy date-grabber neckgear. Or the "As Seen in Maxim" elastics. Or a solid FOUR YEARS of your teen-aged life.
Or, some 10 years later after Round Two: Electric Bugaloo, the version where you got the "clear braces" (brackets that were tooth colored which, btw is such b-s) is that now you can afford the Invisilign braces which they tell you will *only* take up 11 months of your 34th year. And the beauty of the Invisilign braces, as the name would imply, is that PEOPLE CAN'T SEE THEM.
I won't get into the whole "did you really need them?", "girl, you crazy" back and forth; it's my belief everybody has at least a someTHING physically about themselves that they aren't over the moon about (to varying extents ranging from mild annoyance to pure, unadulterated loathing) and this just happens to me my "thing". And my extent on this thing is closer to the loathing side of the scale.
Make of that what you will, but there you go.
Now that I have them, if it can be written about plastics, I am in love. (I can't believe I just said I love braces.) I don't have to look like a adolescent in their awkward stage, nor do I have to go thru the monthly Liefest that is promising to wear elastics, and I also have the ability of being able to see the "after" results without committing to my old "trick" of covering the wires and brackets my index finger. Besides, at the end of this I will have the perfect smile and will finally (finally!) be able to start that modeling career I always thought I had in the bag (I fear it was the imperfect smile that was holding me back).
And so, I embarked for the life-altering appointment on a fah-reezing January late afternoon. The appointment itself was pretty no-fuss, no-muss, save for one, teeny, tiny exception I'd learn as it was happening: I will require teeth to be filed 3 times during the course of treatment (so I am 1 down, 2 to go). Vertically. To give the teeth some room to move into new space or something. It's not that it hurt, it didn't, but it did feel weird and a little sensitive. And of course there's that magical smell of burning enamel sawdust that I can't imagine anyone loves so much they would suggest it be Bath & Body Works newest scent. Also, there may have been a little blood. But ya know what? I can handle all this because, people? *I* am going to be America's Next Top Insurance Model (TM)! (oh yah, that is my big plan! Remember, "34 is the new 14", so I am not as long in the (heh) tooth as you think!)
After the fitting, they gave me instructions on how to care for the plastic retainers, I was told what I could and couldn't drink (him: "clear liquids only." me: "Is beer a 'clear liquid'?"), and informed that my speech may be effected for the first few days, a slight lisp. (i.e. messages was "methages" no matter how hard I tried). So I started right away on "pwactithing my thpeach" to lose my Elmer Fudd accent.
[Oh, and right after my appointment I felt that because I was such a big girl and "so brave" (didn't even cry), there was cause for Rocket Dog shoes purchasing. Which are SO NOT SNEAKERS by the way. (photo to follow)]
Still on the high of the appointment that was bringing me to the Promised Land (straight teeth in just 11 short months!) and imagining all the new outfits I could pair with my new teeth, I walked up the stairs into the vestibule of my mansion/apartment building and collected the mail. Not a total surprise, there was a card waiting for me as my birthday being the next day. Walking up the staircase to the second floor, I opened the card. It was from Aunt Teri.
Same aunt who alleges ignorance of my Braces: The Trilogy.
An Aunt whom I had the distinct impression that she actually liked me.
Hours after receiving my braces, this was the first thing I read.