24.4.13

Brace Yourself

I sat writhing in pain as the realisation dawned on me that my Hollywood career would be over before it even began. Before I had even dreamed about it. Because no one wants an assistant director’s assistant’s delegator’s coffee stirrer with braces.

O! helpless, merciless life! O! painful hypodermic needle entering  my gum! O! the self esteem of yet another teenager dashed upon the rocks of vanity and societal pressures! O! misfortune and genetics, leaving me with shoddy teeth! O! the absence of justice!

As each component of the “appliance” was attached into place my Hollywood hopes kept sliding further and further down the small spitting basin at the side of the dentist’s chair.

The only hope that remained of my Hollywood career was playing a superhero. The 64,000-dollar man would be apt, because that’s about how much it cost to put them in – but pudgy, red headed teenagers aren’t the ideal candidates for those roles. No, I’d have to be an underdog, an experiment gone wrong. I would rise up as the hero of the film. I would save the day. And then I would disappear off into the clich├ęd sunset as a recluse, the hideous, rusted metal in my mouth off-putting to even the most liberal and forward thinking.

And then another one of those needles goes in and I forget about any dreams; smashes or otherwise. It’s long, sharp and bloody hurts. I didn’t know this was going to be happening; it’s a surprise sprung upon my at the last minute once I’m comfortable in the medieval torture chamber’s chair. Although, I have to say, it is possibly the most hygienic medieval torture chamber you’ve ever seen. There’s even Radio National Breakfast playing in the background, the announcer cheerfully unaware of the horrors I’m going through.

Presently, two teeth are removed. They didn’t tell me that was going to happen; only at the last minute, “And by the way, we’re just going to pop these two teeth out…” Pop isn’t quite the word I’d use.

I leave after an hour and a half unable to talk, two cotton wads shoved under numbed and rubbery lips. I’m sure onlookers can think of only one word to describe what I’ve been through: torture.

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