Like a lot of people, my teeth were pushed and pulled with a variety of contraptions during my formative years. It all started innocently enough in 5th grade when I got spacers. Tiny rubber bands were wound between metal brackets that had been twisted around my back teeth. This was the first sign that my preteens were going to be painful and not because of my unflattering haircut and spotty fashion sense; those bands were an agent of torture. Sure, they came in bright, fun colors, but I learned quickly that neon pink things can be used as a torture device too. When my jaw became too sore to snack on Hot Pockets after school as per my usual routine, I knew that shit was getting real. Keep reading »
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