brace yourselves

Was I the only 6th grader who thought braces were so earth shatteringly cool that I would roll out my chewing gum so that it was a thin strand that I could hold across my pearly whites in make believe? Or the only 6th grader who cleverly positioned the art of oral cosmetics into conversations with my mother, beginning and ending with, “do my teeth look crooked to you?”, in hopes of steadfastly making my way into Dr. Whistler’s (Danville’s very own orthodontic monopolist) patient archives?

My wish came true. For 3 years of middle school, I was the proud sponsor of a unibrow, GAP’s entire collection of branded T-shirts, and silver mouth wires. But not once did I ever come close to looking as good as Jean Genie.

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