El Orthodonto

I have embarked on my grand Journey to the Land of Metal Mouths, and let me tell you, it's awful. I had my initial "Hi, let me tell you how much of my vacation you're going to pay for" meeting with the Orthodontist. (turns out, I will be paying for his airline travel, half of a condo, and five tickets to Walt Disney World). First, they yanked (quite literally--they have yanking tools) my mouth wide open and took some photos of beautifully crooked teeth.

I then sat down with El Orthodonto while he talked to me about things like my Open-Bite Tendency (which explains why I eat everything I see), some scary something about my gums during which I zoned out because I don't like talking about my gums, especially when it's scary, and how I will be in those delightful mini-rubberbands for two and half years. Folks, I can hardly contain my excitement.

So I went back a few days ago to get my "impressions" made. Many of you who read have had braces, so you know the nightmare that this seemingly "quick and easy" procedure is. First, the chick puts me in the chair and tells me to do all the swallowing I need to because I can't swallow when the mold thing is in. Now, why on earth anyone would say that, I don't know, because when she put the bubble gum flavored goop on my teeth, my brain started screaming, "Swallow! Swallow! SWALLOW IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!" So I swallowed eight times during the impression, each time making that gross noise your throat makes when you swallow with your Mouth in the evil grip of the Yanking Tools. The impression lady was less than amused and pity-laughed at my despair. But I knew, inside, all she could think about was how badly she needed to swallow.