Times, they ain't a-changin'

My awkward phase continues.

In a tone that can only be described as glee, my dentist (now my orthodontist) told me on Friday that my teeth and jaws are catastrophically misaligned, any any further living without immediate treatment will contribute to a whole host of horrible outcomes like cracked molars or TMJ, and pretty much guarantee an early ticket to denturehood. I have to have braces, and I have to have them yesterday. In addition, I have a tongue thrust situation which will have to be corrected with behavior modification "barbs" on the inside of my teeth making it painful to put my tongue where it automatically wants to go. Further, my palette is too high, so I'll need an expander, and the kicker is I have to wear this stuff for two years, and then a retainer for the rest of my life. But the fun doesn't end there. I walked shell shocked from the diagnosis into what's called the "financing options" office, where I learned that my dental insurance covers braces only for individuals up to age 25 (probably because who needs them after that, right?) So I will be paying $5,000 of my own money to be transformed into an orthodontic cautionary tale.

I couldn't be more excited.

When I was 15 I had a flat chest, a face covered in acne and a giant head of frizzy hair. When these facts would bother me, I would console myself with two things: 1. At least I didn't have braces and 2. eventually I would reach adulthood and all those awful things would go away and I would emerge a beautiful grown up swan with her own car and bank account.

Well friends, fast forward to 2011, where I do indeed have my own car and bank account. I'm a 41 year old swan with persistent acne, a flat chest made even worse by several months of breastfeeding, stretch marks from pregnancy, wrinkles, and now the coup de grace, braces to keep from further damaging my precious calorie intake source. In one month I will have to learn to eat and talk with a Buick Le Sabre in my mouth, without slurring or slobbering on myself.

Mason, who just got all this junk off, is finding great joy in my present predicament, spending a lot of time educating me on what hurts the most and where food gets stuck. Most of the adults in my life are trying to keep from openly smirking. This leaves me with my my last (and frankly most desperate) effort at self consolation: at least I don't need glasses yet (my vision has always been pretty good), and I don't have to walk the Marshall Missouri high school halls while wearing enough metal to send the TSA into pat down mode. Oh yeah, and I can stay out at late as I want! (I can't stay awake as late as I want, but where I fall asleep is completely up to me!)