Orthodontic purgatory
I used to have horrid teeth. Due to a thumb sucking habit, the two front ones stuck out and had a gap between them that you could could insert a pound coin in. I could eat an apple through a tennis racket. I also had, thanks to genetics, a bit of an overbite (cheers, mum).

Obligatory orthodontic treatment commenced from the age of twelve. Looking at my overbite, consideration was given to breaking my jaw and resetting it, something that would have involved 5 weeks of pain. However, my bastard cunty dentist instead decided to fit me with the most humiliating and medieval set of braces known to man.

Fitted top and bottom, half an inch thick in both cases, they had big plastic fangs that protruded up and down and made it impossible for me to close my mouth without pulling my jaw forward. This resulted in me looking like the missing link, talking like I had Down's Syndrome and causing children to cry and run away at the sight of the inside of my mouth. For EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS.

Following that, to sort my teeth out I got the bog-standard railway track braces, complete with gaily coloured rubber bands, some horrifying lump of metal in the roof of my mouth called a "quadhelix" (Christ alone knows what that was for) and headgear to wear at night which consisted of a skullcap and sticky-out bars of metal that hooked onto the brace and curved round to the back of my head. This caused me to drool.

The result? Finally, when I was nearly 16, nice teeth on the top, rubbish teeth on the bottom (they overcrowded them) and a jaw that has been slowly, sneakily receding back ever since.

And that is why, despite being a girl, prior to the age of 16, I had no experience to relate to last week's QOTW.

Length? I'd've cut it to ribbons.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Fri 3 Nov 2006, 11:48, Reply)