Friday, May 25, 2012


I got braces on my teeth in January 2011, amid heartbreak and moving into a new house with new friends in Limerick. I existed on a diet of Weetabix and bananas for a couple of weeks and woke up in the middle of the night in agony with my teeth clenched. It was a pretty horrific time, and all for the sake of vanity and American-style orthodontically straight teeth. Over a year and at least twenty toothbrushes later, I’m equipped with elastics and a metal mouth that would rival Hannibal Lector. I brush my teeth several times a day and I can’t wear lipstick with confidence because it gets embedded in the ceramic of my braces and it’s not as easy as running my tongue over the braces and hoping it’ll remove the pink gunk. It doesn’t. And I look like a tool.

But after all this oral hygiene, there’s a reward, right? It won’t be long before I’m free of metal for at least twelve hours of the day and I’m excited. I’m excited for a brand new set of gnashers. I’ll flash a smile at every Tom, Dick, and Harry I see. Shiny, red lips and sparkling, white teeth. I’m excited! I’ll floss with ease and I’ll wear my retainer and I’ll get my teeth professionally cleaned. Everything will be teeth and nothing will hurt. x

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