. . . I’ve replaced more crowns than half the kingdoms in Europe at the onset of the 20th Century.
“Your gums are shrinking and there is leakage,” Dr. Nikraz informed me. “With braces, your problems will be solved.”
“O yarm eye?” My mouth was filled with cotton, making it hard to argue.
“If we start now, we can be finished in nine months,” he continued.
How did he know about my last three relationships? Was that on the intake form?
My teeth are now perfectly aligned, newly crowned and all facing true north.
My bite matches my bark. Which brings a new issue to forefront. My smile. Now whiter and wider than the Bible Belt, every time I laugh [which is often] my face displays more wrinkles than a Neapolitan Mastiff.
At least my three-chin profile is reduced to two. If you look long enough, you can rationalize an excuse for anything.
I look good lying down; however, it’s difficult to drive. What’s more, being prone often gives the wrong impression.
My teeth, on the other hand, now leave a fabulous impression.