The Struggle

For eight long days I have suffered the scourge of braces. The time hath come to expunge my misery on you, the faithful, bored, semi-interested reader.

• I can't eat pizza. At least, I can't eat it without a knife and fork, which I believe is a felony is some Floridian counties.


• I can't chew gum. I love to chew gum.


• No chicken parm subs for me.


• You know how annoying it can be to have food stuck in your teeth? Well, imagine that feeling every time you eat.


• I now have a baggie of tooth cleaning apparatus at my work desk.


• And a kit of Orthosentials at home.


• It took me a half hour to eat a bagel this week. They are not easy to cut with plastic knives.


• No popcorn


• No nuts


• No hard candy


• No caramel. I love me some caramel


• And there are Led Zeppelin songs shorter than it takes me to floss.

It is a national tragedy.

Perhaps you're sitting in your pajamas reading this (and if you are, reevaluate your life choices) and telling me to suck it up and be a man. That's not my style.

Maybe you're sitting there saying, "Braces? Who cares? I have another human being inside me!" or "I lost a leg in Vietnam." Boo hoo. Wah, I'm pregnant. Wah, I'm missing a limb. Try walking around wearing the yolk of clear braces, impairing your ability to enjoy gum and candy and pizza, ruining your radiant smile. Only then can you know true pain. Only then can you know my misery.

I am a week through this ordeal. Eighty more to go, give or take. Pray for me.