LJ Idol Week 3: Smile
Nov. 6th, 2009 07:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themegalooGrowing up I, like many other children, hated the dentist. And brushing my teeth, and mouth wash and flossing and all that horrid stuff, especially when I was told to stop eating so much candy as it was giving me cavities, etc.
So I'm sure you can imagine my horror when I heard those three dreaded words: You need braces. I did not! My teeth were fine! Alright, there were one or two that were a little uneven and I had a little bit of an overbite, but I had seem so many people with worse teeth that it hardly seemed to be anything of consequence. But, confused as I might be, I ended up with the braces. Two years of going back to the dentist every month to have my teeth tugged about until they suited the orthodontist in where they were inched that little bit closer to, of trying to pick colors for tiny little rubber bands that I wouldn't hate before the month was out, of perpetually sore teeth.
But this isn't about the braces, not really. This is about the retainer.
I'm sure anyone who's ever had a retainer has at least one amazing story of how they threw it out. This is mine.
I was fourteen when I got rid of the braces, and just about to go to a big theatre competition. My school had won for our state and we were going to represent the state in the South Eastern Theatre Conference. That really is a story all in itself, but the fact of the matter was that it was in Florida in March and we decided to take one of our "free" days on the trip to go have lunch at the beach. Which means, necessarily, eating out of wrappers on the ground and having a good laugh of things and beating off the seagulls who kept trying to steal my cheetos. Not being used to owning a retainer, it naturally made its way into the somewhat disgusting off-season trash bin.
For about an hour and a half.
Then I realized what had happened and raced back to the trash bin and am, literally, upside down in it trying to find my retainers when the adults, a little ways down the beach, notice. My mother was chaperoning the trip and our director for the play grabbed her elbow and went "Kathy! That's your child!" before shouting up at me that there was still plenty of food. Like I would really be eating out of the trash!
In the end, one of the other chaperons helped me locate the retainer with a pizza box, shifting things about including a dirty diaper and some decomposing lettuce. It was found, eventually, and not worn until it could be sufficiently cleaned. In boiling water and antibacterial and toothpaste.
That story followed me all throughout the rest of my high school theatre days, leading to several running jokes and a few "slammy" awards, including a pacifier clip intended for my retainer. The story has been told many times, by many people, and often in highly embarrassing places, but really. What's the use of a great story about accidental dumpster-diving if you can't smile at yourself?
So I'm sure you can imagine my horror when I heard those three dreaded words: You need braces. I did not! My teeth were fine! Alright, there were one or two that were a little uneven and I had a little bit of an overbite, but I had seem so many people with worse teeth that it hardly seemed to be anything of consequence. But, confused as I might be, I ended up with the braces. Two years of going back to the dentist every month to have my teeth tugged about until they suited the orthodontist in where they were inched that little bit closer to, of trying to pick colors for tiny little rubber bands that I wouldn't hate before the month was out, of perpetually sore teeth.
But this isn't about the braces, not really. This is about the retainer.
I'm sure anyone who's ever had a retainer has at least one amazing story of how they threw it out. This is mine.
I was fourteen when I got rid of the braces, and just about to go to a big theatre competition. My school had won for our state and we were going to represent the state in the South Eastern Theatre Conference. That really is a story all in itself, but the fact of the matter was that it was in Florida in March and we decided to take one of our "free" days on the trip to go have lunch at the beach. Which means, necessarily, eating out of wrappers on the ground and having a good laugh of things and beating off the seagulls who kept trying to steal my cheetos. Not being used to owning a retainer, it naturally made its way into the somewhat disgusting off-season trash bin.
For about an hour and a half.
Then I realized what had happened and raced back to the trash bin and am, literally, upside down in it trying to find my retainers when the adults, a little ways down the beach, notice. My mother was chaperoning the trip and our director for the play grabbed her elbow and went "Kathy! That's your child!" before shouting up at me that there was still plenty of food. Like I would really be eating out of the trash!
In the end, one of the other chaperons helped me locate the retainer with a pizza box, shifting things about including a dirty diaper and some decomposing lettuce. It was found, eventually, and not worn until it could be sufficiently cleaned. In boiling water and antibacterial and toothpaste.
That story followed me all throughout the rest of my high school theatre days, leading to several running jokes and a few "slammy" awards, including a pacifier clip intended for my retainer. The story has been told many times, by many people, and often in highly embarrassing places, but really. What's the use of a great story about accidental dumpster-diving if you can't smile at yourself?
