3rd grade.  Look at that sassy mullet!

3rd grade. Look at that sassy mullet!

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.

Check out my sweet lion pin.  I loved that thing.  I wore it on my blazer(s).

Check out my sweet lion pin. I loved that thing. I wore it on my blazer(s).

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.

This cardigan had a matching skort that had scottie dogs on it, because scottie dogs are effing awesome.

This cardigan had a matching skort that had scottie dogs on it, because scottie dogs are effing awesome.

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.

7th grade.  Is that crunchy hair?  Crunch as some fricking Ramen noodles!

7th grade. Is that crunchy hair? Crunch as some fricking Ramen noodles!

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.