Why In The World Would I Want To Be Perfect?: A Lament On Braces

Warning: the following blog post is extremely dramatic and contains language which may not be suitable for people who don't like swearing. Reader discretion is advised.

++

A few weeks ago I went to the orthodontist and he suggested that I get 3 or 4 braces on my bottom teeth to fix this one tooth that wasn't doing what he wanted it to do.

My orthodontist had made this proposition to me 3 months earlier before I went to China and I had laughed in his face. Braces? Um, yeah right. Back track to 8 years ago when I was 13 and the same orthodontist said my braces would be on for a year to a year and a half. They were the new, stronger type at that time. Fast forward a little bit to a few weeks before my prom with braces still on. You know, 4 years later.

I often say that glasses are ruining my life, but when I was in high school, braces were ruining my life. If you've never had braces before then I'm sorry but you just don't understand. Unless you have some other kind of mouth thing that rips the inside of your cheeks repeatedly or had to have elastics tying your mouth together or been forced to cut the corn on the cob off the cob, you just don't understand. So, 3 months ago, when my orthodontist suggested braces, my initial reaction was

FUCK NO.

NEVER.

FUCK OFF.

FUCK YOU.

FUCKING DIE.

NO.

He said come back after China and we'll talk about it.

This time, I was more prepared when he asked me about braces again. I really don't want braces, I said. I tried to emphasize the 'really'. In fact I said it multiple times. I really, really, really do not want braces. I have been going to this place since for 7 or 8 years. My dad has paid you a bajillion dollars. Leave me the fuck alone already.

But he showed me a mirror. I've seen it already, the crooked tooth. I look at pictures of myself and it's plainly obvious to me (but probably to no one else). This one stupid tooth is turning my perfect thousands-of-dollars smile into something less than perfect. The nurse said it might even get worse (but probably not). That's just ridiculous.

Normally I embrace "flaws". I'm a really short person, but will that bring me down? No! I will use it to my advantage! I was born this way!

But 8 years ago I had made the decision to change my teeth. It was work, it cost money, it was literally painful, I cried real tears probably way too much during the braces years. They really weren't as cool as they looked on my older cousin. But with anything that I work on, I want the end result to be good. No, I want it to be perfect. Did I go through 5 years of braces hell to finish with one crooked tooth? No, I did not. When I start something the finished product needs to meet my unrealistic expectations/standards of perfection. (Okay, that part might be where I'm a little bit crazy).

I sat in the chair and looked at my teeth in the mirror. What the fuck does this stupid tooth think it's doing anyway? How did this even happen? I refuse to believe that I am not the master controller of everything in my body. I will will this tooth to fix itself. Barring that, I will learn to love my crooked tooth. Nobody will notice it. Plus, I always seem to have crushes on people with crooked teeth. If I don't want them to change, why should I want my teeth to change? I'm almost 21 years old! My braces time is over! It's too late. Fuck that noise. People will learn to love me with my crooked smile.

Who am I kidding? I said yes to the braces (mostly because I want to be famous and famous people have straight teeth) and then I went home and cried because I'm a baby. Also because the receptionist said they were fully booked until October, and I'd have to wait until bloody motherfucker goddamned October. Goddamnit. I hate everything.

If only the orthodontist could have done it in August when I had my appointment, they could practically be off by October. Instead, I'm going to have them for Halloween, my birthday, Christmas, New Years...

I really, really, really want to call them and cancel my appointment. Just fuck it. It's one tooth, it's not even that crooked. These people are causing me serious emotional turmoil. Come on, Emily, you can do it. Tell them (politely) to fuck off. Pick up the phone...

I really, really, really don't want braces. But I also really, really, really don't want crooked teeth. Fuck me. Why oh why do I crave perfection?