Back on the chain gang.

I’m convinced there’s no possible way to prepare myself for an orthodontic appointment.  I always leave thinking I’ll get used to it and return to that chair wondering what the hell’s going on and why my orthodontist insists on eating a chicken salad sandwich with extra onion before I arrive.   

I’ve had a different oral technician every time and this past Wednesday afternoon I thought I had struck gold (silver, actually).  She called my name just in time before I picked up an issue of Cheerleading magazine in the waiting room.  On each of her teeth there were brackets connected to wire connected to my heart and I felt in an instant, a silent bond between us.   

Adults with braces:  the few, the proud, the sore.   

It’s always the same routine and I keep my eyes closed for all of it.  I don’t like to see the scary tool with which they use to remove the bands on each bracket holding the wire in place.  It makes me feel like an automobile. 

Occasionally I’ll open one eye to make sure I’m not being murdered, but I prefer to take my mind as far away from the torture as possible… to the cave where Sasquatch sleeps or the secret place where cold winds blow air into the shower right when you start shaving your legs.   

This time I was forced to watch because they needed me to know how to reattach my springs in case they come off while I’m eating.  First of all, I had no idea springs would ever be involved.  Secondly, all I can eat now is soup and unless it’s frozen I don’t see it ever exuding enough force to jog one loose. 

I’m not eating cream of gravel. 

  

She handed me a small mirror and to my surprise I spotted not one, but two large boogers dangling right out of one nostril for all to see.  I wonder if she really needed me to see how the springs attach or if that’s the kindest, most subtle way anyone’s ever clued me in on a few “bats in the cave”.   

That wasn’t the end of the new equipment.  They also added something called a power chain.  In my loudest, innermost Rodney Dangerfield thought voice I said to myself, “EH DOC, WHEYAHS THE BIKE YO REPAIRIN?!”   

So for now until who knows when (too sad to ask), it’s springs on the top and power chains on the bottom.  They’re both used to close the gaps where I had the extractions.   

Now I’m off to devise a plan to convince Ben that the only thing that can ease my pain is a trip to the movie theater to see One Missed Call. 

The main characters receive cell phone messages from their future selves detailing the date, time, and events of their death. 

In the trailer the cell phone rings and both girls look like they’ve just seen a ghost.  One of them says, “That’s… that’s not my ring tone.”   

Yep, and I also paid to see I Know Who Killed Me. 

I don’t know that he has or will ever forgive me for that one.