Crowd Control

I got braces at thirty-seven. It’s a late-game move that created a strange relationship with my own face. To be polite, my teeth always looked like they’d shown up late for a lineup and just decided to crowd in. It wasn't a tragedy—I ate just fine—but it was a source of constant contention.

In an act of “owning” the flaw, I became a smiley, boisterous force. My mouth became my defining feature: the comedian, the conversationalist, the one shouting for attention. But now that the line has been straightened, I’ve found a new reason to be self-conscious. A pretty smile is a public admittance that, for a long time, even I didn’t feel good about me.

Now, I’m on the back end of the process. A few trays left before I wander into the world with my "Manchurian Candidate" teeth. I’m still loud, still a comedian, but I’ve found a new grit in my bite. When I reference the change, people often say, “I liked your old smile; it was unique.”

What the flying fuck am I supposed to do with that? It turns out that while I was busy with the "crowd control," everyone else had decided my mess was a personality trait they enjoyed.

It goes to show that our problems will always be our problems. While I was busy assuming everyone was staring at the architectural failure of my mouth, they were apparently just taking in the joy. I’ve realized it’s okay to address the things you don't like about yourself—just don't expect the world to give you a standing ovation for fixing something they never thought was broken.

Besides, my teeth can be fixed, while my hair has gone on permanent retirement.

Word Count: ~325 words

Approximate Read Time: 1 minute, 20 seconds