God Save The Queen---and my teeth!

Dear Ether, 

I think a little bit too much of the English lifestyle has rubbed off on me.  Brits, do not get offended by this stereotype (remember, my partner is English so this gives me some rights to a bit of a rib jab, eh?)  I, who once was so proud of her glittering white clackers, have not been to the dentist in over a year.  This young lady, who grew up with a mother who said, “there are two things you have to look after, your teeth and your feet” have neglected (well, both actually—damn those days of pointed-toe heel trends—bunion brewers!) my stunning American teeth. 

Ohhh, the hours I toiled in that orthodontist chair where he swore to me (the liar) that those braces would be coming off in just one more month (2 years later) and where I brushed for two minutes solid every night and proudly swung my tongue over the clean enamel like a windshield wiper doing its job to perfection. 

The worst thing is I own the Rolls Royce of toothbrushes—a Sonicare that was given to me by Phillips as a press gift.  I have no excuse.  I have the tools (though I do not floss—please don’t start throwing stones at me), so why the hell don’t I face Dr. Z (I won’t mention his real name because he is the epitome of evil.  He is the typical Beverly Hills dentist who thinks he is hilarious, abuses his hygienists, has nose hair like Chewbacca and always dreamed of becoming a screenwriter and blames his father for forcing him to become a dentist.  I believe every tooth he has ever pulled brings him joy for every lost script he never wrote).  

His office calls every month or so with a tsk-tsk and I swear to them that next month I PROMISE that I’ll be there.  Of course I’m lying. 

But here’s what did it for me.  I just saw a picture of myself and was shocked—my teeth didn’t glisten like they used to!  I’m a coffee drinker and an occasional smoker and my infallible teeth were, well, not so infallible.  So, I’ve made Dr. Z’s ladies’ day and booked an appointment.  Oh man!  What will they find?  An old fishing hook?  That missing pen I’ve been looking for?  And the lectures about my gums. Oy Vey! But, I’m not in London anymore—I’m in L.A. baby, and I gotta get this smile lookin’ like a Hollywood grin again or I’ll become a leper. 

Maybe, if I cancel, I’ll just start speaking with a British accent and people will understand.  My goodness, if Kate Moss can be a runway model with those cockeyed crunchers, maybe I can pass?  Sighh…nope, I hold a blue passport, not a lovely maroon one—I gotta face that hideous chair and the horrible “Muzak” they play while being filled in and buffed out (how surreal is it hearing the Beach Boys “Good Vibrations” when they’re using a drill on a filling?). 

Hey, my only solace is that I don’t have to go to an NHS dentist.  Again no offense guys, but the last time I tried that route, some Draconian dude tried pulling out the wrong tooth and told me that my front incisor, that only needed a small filling patch, would have to be replaced completely with silver! As bling-alicious as I may be—that really wasn’t my look—though it would have matched the buckles on my Ferragamo shoes quite nicely! 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

PS:  I almost forgot (see, I am totally Anglo-FRIED) HAPPY 4^TH O’ JULY!

PPS: “Fashion Fridays” was so much fun for me, but many of you didn’t vote!  Well, just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean it is too late.  Go for it–lemme know whatcha think.  I’m already planning my theme for next week