Recently while flossing*, I noticed one of my bottom teeth starting to go snaggle. I don’t like snaggle teeth; so much so that I actually coined what I refer to as “The Rule of Snaggle.”
The Rule of Snaggle states, in no uncertain terms, that people with a snaggle tooth are not to be trusted. I stand by this rule, as every person I’ve ever met who has a snaggle tooth has proven untrustworthy.
It’s true. Think about it, except if you have a snaggle tooth and are reading this blog. Then it’s totally not true and I’m just kidding.
(It’s totally true.)
*I suspect you think when I say “flossing” that I was flossing my teeth. That would be a logical conclusion, but an inaccurate one. What I was really doing was the dance move of flossing, where you take a hot pink boa with one hand at each end, and pull it back and forth between your legs. It’s how I dance to Beyonce in the morning. And yes, it MUST be a hot pink boa. Don’t come at it with a green one. Not cool.*
Because the Rule of Snaggle has never let me down, I knew I needed to change my snaggle ways, or face the inevitable conclusion by others that I’m inherently untrustworthy.
Note: I am inherently untrustworthy when it comes to food. I will eat the last cupcake and will most definitely lie about it.
See what I mean? The Rule of Snaggle is always right.
Because of my disturbing snaggle transformation, I pointed out the rogue tooth to my dentist the following week, and advised I needed it fixed immediately.
I did not go through 2 sets of braces, 6 retainers, 4 mouth surgeries and a chin cup headgear contraption just to have a snaggle.
I needed it fixed. Post-haste.
He said I could get a retainer to stop the progression of the snaggle. I was hoping he would say it in more dramatic terms, preferably through a walkie talkie in a state of desperation, but I settled for his monotone recommendation.
He clearly didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, which made me suspect he had a snaggle.
I got up and headed down the hall to the portion of the dentist’s office that handled orthodontics. It was easy to find, as I just followed the trail of Lemonheads boxes and and Laffy Taffy wrappers.
I could tell the items were eaten in a panic, as the eaters realized they would have to say goodbye to these delicious treats as they began their quest for perfect teeth.
It was like a Trail of Tears of sorts, only this one had candy wrappers and no disease or death.
After I was fitted for the torture contraption, I anxiously awaited my retainer (or “retainers” as annoying pre-pubescent boys call it). I finally got the call that my snaggle’s nemesis was ready for pick up.
Sadly, I was more excited than I care to admit.
I walked into the office and was struck with memories of going to the orthodontist as a child. Flashbacks washed over me like they do in 80s sitcoms, and I could practically hear the music and see the blurry lines taking me back to my childhood and the torture of braces.
I found myself wondering what I was going to wear to the football game on Friday night and whether Jimmy would ask me to formal. (He would.)
Panic set in as I wondered whether I’d done my trigonometry homework, and whether I packed a lunch. Only losers ate hot lunch, and I was most certainly not a loser. (Yes I was.)
Just as I was cursing my Teen Spirit deodorant for being ineffective, a woman brought me my new retainer.
It was in a sparkly pink container and looked like bubble gum. It was as if the orthodontist was mocking me and flipping me the bird by making the case look like bubble gum….something I couldn’t have while wearing a retainer.
I knew that guy had a snaggle. I knew it.
I asked the woman if I could get some Strawberry Shortcake stickers to put on my glitterfied case, but she said I would have to do that on my own.
Clearly she was a Rainbow Brite kind of gal.
I left in silence, retainer in hand.
As soon as I got in the car, I put in my new retainer just to see how it looked. It was an Invisalign, so it wasn’t quite a throw back to the old school retainers of the 80s, but it was most definitely a retainer.
I tried out a few words to see if the complimentary lisp still came with the retainer. Good news! It did, as did the spitting while speaking.
It was just like old times.
I then immediately headed to Walmart to purchase Clearasil for what promised to be a breakout due to stress.
I also wanted to pick up a new diary so I could write all my deepest thoughts in it, and then lock it with a tiny lock that even a three-year-old could break.
For now, I’m only wearing the retainer at night, as I want to curb the snaggle. However, if the nightly use doesn’t do the trick, I will have to switch to wearing it all the time.
If that happens, I suggest you get me a subscription to Tiger Beat and a
new poster of Joey McIntyre.
Yeah, right. As if I don’t already have a subscription to Tiger Beat.