The Epitome of “It Could Have Been Worse…”

The mysterious case of the flying tooth

High school was a low point in terms of my physical attractiveness. Lets just say I got more attention sporting tight Limited Too ribbed v-necks and baggy black JNCO knock-offs in 5th grade than I did in high school. Believe it or not, my issues had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with my teeth. It actually may be more accurate to say my lack thereof.

Senior year one of my teeth just straight-up fell out with zero warning. Just like that the stubborn bastard left me in the trenches to face the searing judgments of all the non-hillbillies surrounding me. Permanent tooth gone rogue. The situation may have been more bearable had the tooth been an insignificant molar, but it was one of my front four. Unavoidably unattractive.

Getting braces with a fake tooth attached to them was the next step in the process. Insult to injury. I chose clear bands alongside all the other too-old-for-braces folks in denial. My orthodonist’s repeated compliments on my clean bands were empty words when I considered the 10 year old gummy bear-loving pre-teens I was up against.

Besides, having clean braces senior year of high school was more of an expectation than an achievement. So, I drank everything from a straw and ate by tossing my head back and dropping food straight into my throat. Cute, right?

When it came time to remove the train tracks, I feared for the loss of my porcelain companion, but it was only a matter of a weekend between the braces removal and tooth implant surgery. While my better judgment told me to lay low within the comfort of my own non-judgmental bedroom walls for the weekend, the rebellious teen in me had other plans.

At my request, doc gave me the faux tooth to keep as a “memento,” probably thinking and being correct about what a freak I was. He could never have imagined that I was planning on squeezing that sucker in between its two neighboring teeth and playing it off like it was permanent. As high risk and weird as it was, I was determined to show off my (almost perfect) new grill.

At the party I just couldn’t bear to miss that weekend, I was living large. Buzzed off Beast Ice and vermouth stolen from my parent’s stash, I was all big toothy smiles and giggles (a freedom I had long missed). It wasn’t long before the babe hosting the party picked up on my flirty energy and began makin’ moves. As they often do, one thing led to another. Our make-out session in the basement storage room had just started to heat up (as much as drunken teen kissing in a musty dark room can) when the sound of breaking glass from upstairs caused his head to abruptly bump my chin.

The blow caused my tooth to fly out leaving only a small ping sound in its wake. Man down.

I was ready to book it out of that party like the roof was on fire, but alas, someone from the heavens had mercy on my soul. While the concerned boy ran upstairs to investigate, my frantic bumbling search turned up the tooth hiding in a dust bunny.

Better on the floor than in his mouth, I concluded and left that party immediately feeling like I’d cheated death. Sometimes all it takes is a flying tooth to give you some perspective. A lesson for the grandkids, I think.