Heavy Metal

So, as you’ve probably already gathered from the previous posts, this is embarrassing moments week. And as a person who’s suffered (and continues to suffer) such moments, I was really debating just which personal humiliation I’d be willing to share. I mean, which of the many horrifying events, (the landmarks of my life!), would I not just foist on you, dear reader, but also send out to the blogosphere where it can live on, indefinitely . . .

And it didn’t take long for me to decide that I wasn’t about to spill any of them. I mean, for years now I’ve denied those moments so successfully, there’s no use taking ownership of them now.

But then, right after I thought that, yet another embarrassing moment came to mind—one that I happen to relive on a daily basis. Or at least whenever I attempt to eat a sandwich, bite into a taco, or make headway on a sushi roll—out in the open—where everyone can see. And since this particular dirty little secret is becoming impossible to hide, I figured I might as well come clean with it now.

So here goes:

I, Alyson Noël, have an open bite.

Which means my top front teeth don’t make nice with my bottom front teeth.

Which also means they can’t tear food or successfully aid in the ingestion of any of the above items without the aid of a knife and fork. (Yes, I actually cut my tacos into small manageable pieces like you do with a toddler!). And just in case you don’t think this is embarrassing enough, I ask you when was the last time a tuna sandwich ended up on your chin, shirt, lap, and pretty much everywhere but your digestive track?

If by this point you’re thinking: Big deal! Just avoid these things and you’re golden! Well, you’d be right. But the thing is (oh, I also pronounce the word thing like theen not sure if this is open bite related?) sometimes I forget. Either that or I convince myself that this time will be different. Or I miscalculate the size of the petit four, thinking surely I can fit the entire theen into my mouth, only to find once it’s wedged half in-half out and refusing to go any further, that I can’t.

So after years of dealing with this, after years of talking about getting it fixed, I recently visited an orthodontist who told me I’ll need to wear braces for a year and a half, and possibly have jaw surgery in between that!

Yup, metal, rubber bands, and excruciating discomfort—all so I can eat a piece of pizza without suffering the shame of public humiliation.

Is it worth it? I haven’t decided. There are more consultations to come. But one thing is sure, a year’s worth of braces at my age is bound to bring on a whole new set of humiliating experiences, so at least I’ll have something to write about next time this topic comes around!

What about you? Did you ever wear braces? And if so, did you do it for food?

PS- WARNING!!! Shameless self promotion ahead!!! If this sort of thing sickens you, turn away now before it's too late!! Otherwise, read on . . .

It's Teens Read Week, which means it's time to vote for your favorite YA reads in YALSA's annual Teen's Top Ten Award and I'm happy to say that SAVING ZOE is nominated!!! If you read it and liked it and feel like voting, well, all you have to do is click HERE!

Thanks for indulging me!

Alyson- XOXO

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