Since we’re becoming such close friends through this column, I have a confession to make. I’m a flasher. I know, it’s very risky behavior in today’s climate, but I can’t help myself. I’m liable to flash any one of you in my daily travels. There’s no offense intended, and please feel free to flash back. I was required to submit a photo, so you’ll no doubt know who I am when you see me. I’m shameless, and even flash upon request.
There’s a long story on how this sordid behavior began. I’ll spare you the gory details, but it all started 30 years ago when I learned a hard lesson. Teeth are no match for concrete, even when you’re looking really cool doing stunts on your shiny new bicycle. The damage was patched as best as 1978 dental practices allowed, and up until the past few years, I’d put the whole repulsive incident behind me.
In spite of the repair work, and braces as a teen, I became self-conscious and found myself holding back in the smiling department. That was difficult given that I have a lot to smile about. The composite material used to fill the gaping hole in my grin had become discolored, and upper wisdom teeth had shot the previous orthodontic work. Since I’m creeping up on….oh, I can barely breathe and say it, 40, I decided to find a more aesthetically pleasing option, and ventured off on a quest for a more beautiful smile. L’Oreal says I’m worth it. Who am I to argue?
My dental journey, which was wrought with a fair amount of anxiety and some discomfort, lasted a long and grinding 18 months. Thankfully, I didn’t travel alone. Dr. Robert Buck, orthodontic virtuoso, straightened everything out, while Dr. Ryan Garrett, color-matching genius and porcelain sculptor, fashioned a veneer to cover the broken tooth. Jeff, the hard-working-husband-extraordinaire, paid for it all. Bless his heart, he still has no idea how much it set him back. The “domino effect” came into play, and he quit asking. In return, he’ll receive a lifetime supply of loving smiles.
The highlight of my trip was having the porcelain veneer installed. Prior to that happy day, I had a couple of sessions under the nitrous to prepare (that’s dental speak for grind down, thus the previously mentioned anxiety) the damaged tooth. I certainly didn’t feel a thing, and even wore headphones which piped some downright catchy tunes into my ears.
No one seemed to notice that I was dancing euphorically on the ceiling, or that I was the life of the party going on inside my head. I was having a fabulous time with my synapses firing under an altered state, until my bladder called. I’m happy to report that I was indeed able to avoid unspeakable embarrassment, and that we all had a good laugh about my unknown antics afterwards.
© 2008 Natalie Whatley