Braces are, as best as I can describe it, unrelenting.  They are a never ending machine of eating poorly, and less.  Why one would build such a machine is beyond me.  Why one would attach a misery machine to their face?  Beyond me*.  Why this machine still exists in the year beyond two thousand is also beyond me.  I have a very hard time believing that with all the advances we’ve made in modern medicine the best we can do to straighten one’s teeth is some wire.  Anyways, with only one month of experience under my belt I can’t help but imagine retiring my jaw sometime around … a month and a half.  Bread, a staple of mine, I can still eat, but only sort of.  My incisors have decided, rather unfortunately, that they no longer wish to be a part of my organization. As such, bread requires more effort to be consumed nearly properly. To make my life even harder still, I had been told to avoid crusts.  Imagine my surprise then when it occured to me at the dinner table of one of my favourite italian restaurants that what they serve before a meal is basically a big loaf of crust.  There is coming a time when I get quite sick of tearing myself just a little edible piece, then meekly choking it down all the while praying that the object not rend asunder a brace, or, worse of all, touch the god damn wire, which, apparently, my teeth enjoy very little.  What I see in my future is a powerful, painful act of defiance.  I may soon choke to death on an entire bread stick, but, damn it, that will be the happiest god damn day of my life.

*Well, no, the answer is obvious.  People do not desire crooked teeth!  What a surprise that unfortunate individual you shack up with will be in for when your child has far less than perfect teeth.  Hey, at least the odds are in your favour that she’s a liar too.