Teething Pains

The worst place in the world for a cameraman is a dentist's office.

Why? I wondered, standing awkwardly against the wall - my lips aching from their imprisonment in one of those spreader-devices - as the young dentist leaned closer and pushed the camera lens into my face. Why can't I ever have a dentist appointment that isn't completely awkward?

I have a long, blistering history with oral physicians. Dentists, orthodontists, oral surgeons, you name it. My experience with puberty was inexorably woven with these types of people; from the age of thirteen to adulthood, I had no idea what it was like to eat without wire fences in the way. (However, I was all too familiar with getting my sliding metal tubes stuck and being frozen with a roaring mouth.) After years of associating that ultra-sophisticated office with pain and disappointment, I concluded as a seventeen-year-old that "Orthodontists are soul-eaters."

Now that I am a few healthy strides into maturity, I have decided to forgive all the orthodontists, dentists, hygienists, surgeons, and nurses who have ever stabbed me in the mouth. In retrospect, I realize that they were all trying to help me, and that without them my teeth would still be rows of rubble. So I went to my dentist appointment yesterday with the intent to be cheery and helpful, to show my thanks for all that their kind has done for me.

And as a reward, I was attacked by the paparazzi, scrutinized and critiqued and "Don't you think you should Whiten those?"-ed until I thought even my teeth would begin blushing in embarrassment.

Some things never change.