I'm too young for a mid-life crisis. Universe willing, at 37, I'm hopefully not near the halfway mark of my life. That said, the universe has apparently decided to grant me a second adolescence.
And what should be the hallmark for youth's second coming? A sports car? A boob job? A face plumped with collagen and smoothed with Botox? Going back to school and hanging out in crappy apartments with people half my age, discussing Richard Rorty over cheap beer and weak merlot? Quitting my job, running off to Europe and deciding to take up painting?
Some of these things I find more acceptable than others, but apparently the universe has something else in mind for me.
Braces.
Yes. That's right. I need braces. The universe gave me a pass on this the first time around, as certain key people felt it was more important to argue over who should pay than to take action. And as a geeky, chubby child, really, that was fine with me. Why add insult to injury? My teeth were straight and even, their only flaw a small gap between my front teeth. But it seems now, after all these years of giving me no trouble, my bottom teeth are partaking in a game of Twister, turning and shifting, collapsing inward and thereby changing my bite, causing my upper teeth to flare outward ever so slightly...for now.
And so I have to visit the orthodontist in the next few weeks to see about the braces I will likely have to wear for a year-and-a-half to two years. For the record, I'm still chubby and geeky. And I'm dreading this as much as any thirteen-year-old girl would. I'm trying to think of the payoff: the second half of life with beautiful, straight, gap-less teeth.
I'm negotiating for the Europe thing, too. Just in case.
