Six weeks ago I paid £1,000 (money I didn’t have) to take advantage of a Groupon deal that enabled me to get a clear plastic brace put over my teeth for half-price.
For the privilege I had to trek to Crawley where the dentist is based. But to me it still works out cheaper than going to my local dentist.
With a year to go until my wedding, I wanted to ensure I look my best by the time I go down the aisle.
Perhaps you think it’s ridiculous to spend that kind of cash to literally move one tooth a millimetre over.
You’re probably right. But my reasoning is that it’s not about what others think, or even what Matt thinks. I know he loves me no matter what.
But sometimes it simply comes down to how you feel. Having worked my butt off going back and forth from Portsmouth to London for work, I reasoned that I would ‘treat’ myself to it.
I’m not sure whether I’m trying to convince you or me that it was a good move. Anyway, it’s done now.
The plastic brace is well and truly in and with five weeks to go until it’s out I need to wear it as much as possible – as in 22 hours of the day.
This is problematic, not least because every time I eat or drink I have to remove the damn thing, clean my teeth and then put it back. A total nightmare.
Now I’m back up in London, the task of removing it on the train for my obligatory cup of coffee in the morning is proving more and more difficult.
Take Tuesday for example. I looked like Darth Vader and felt just as bad, so had absolutely no choice but to have a coffee to try to wake me up.
The problem was that half-way to Guildford I needed to put the brace back in. This required me to get out my mini toothbrush and toothpaste (in front of a full train), clean my teeth, spit the remnants in my coffee cup (I know, disgusting) and put the brace back in.
Unfortunately the train juddered just as I did that and my coffee/toothpaste mix fell on the floor and my brace went flying.
I had to ask the guy sat next to me, who already looked disturbed by my morning ritual, to get up whilst I searched the floor for my brace.
Embarrassing doesn’t begin to cover it.