You guys! You’re still with me. That’s so nice. I’m all gooey inside (honestly, I am–I know I employ sarcastic snark; would that be ’snarkasm?’, but in this case I’m not. I’m all touched and stuff).

The big news, besides the working all the time thing, is that I, at the tender age of 46, am getting braces. Yup. Braces.

As is my son. See, I went to the dentist, and I have some unpleasantness, and she sent me to the orthodontist, and my son also had to go, and it was determined that both of us needed braces. Further, that I needed some teeth removed–at first I thought it was four, yikes, but it turned out to be just one, and I got that taken care of yesterday. I still need some other fussiness done prior to the braces, but then it’s on.

Yikes. I am getting the invisible kind for the top teeth, I think, with the silver bits on the bottom. And, as I like silver, I guess that’ll just make me more sparkly. But it’s weird. After all this time, with that enormous tooth sticking out in front, to get braces? Is just weird. But the alternative is to risk losing some teeth, since the tooth structure is jeoparding their integrity.

So braces it is. And maybe by the time I am 50 (!) I will have straight teeth. The Nicknaming Spouse will have to stop calling me “Fang.”

(Oh, and btw? My tooth culture is so strong I already had a category called “My Bizarre Teeth.”)

The Son, the MIL and I are at the Jersey Shore, where dial-up is King. So  I haven’t been able to as blithely jump around the internet, because the freelance duties require actual work (which is also blithely jumping, but this time WITH A PURPOSE).

So thanks to everyone for their kind birthday wishes, and their kind words about my teeth (which really do scare small children, but that’s okay). And the agent hunt continues, words on that when it is further along, and I am reading Barbara Hambly (SandyL is smiling), and the MIL, well, I’m a nice woman.

So let’s see. It’s been raining for almost three days here, which is a drag, but I am happy, ’cause I’ve been getting enough sleep and I don’t have to do dishes. It doesn’t take much.

More later–

Megan

One of my son’s closest friends–he’s known him since pre-K–is likely going to have to get braces (as is my guy, but that’s not this story).

His mom, a good friend of mine, was explaining it, and he wasn’t so happy about the prospect. “But if I don’t,” he said, eyes widening in fear, “will I look like Megan?”

Ah. Scaring kids into orthodonture the world over.