So, whenever I talk to people, they're all like, "What are you doing with your summer!!??" And I'm all, "I'm going to the dentist!!!"
I went to the dentist six times in the course of the last three weeks, including once today, to pick up new "bleaching trays." I write "new" because this is the second set I've had...within the last three weeks.
It all sounds pretty "Queer Eye for the Straght Guy," I know. But I'm telling you, it's just the perfect storm of narcissism. At the behest of my fiance', who wanted me to fix my admittedly woefull and graying front tooth for our wedding photos, I went to my childhood next-door-neighbor's dentistry. Since I used to babysit for his kids when I was a teen, he agreed to cut me a deal, and proceeded to tell me that not only did my janky-ass front tooth need adjusting, but my whole smile was completely ghetto and needed work. Furthermore, he would do it at a reduced rate because I used to put up with his devil spawn for $5 an hour.
Somehow, this became eight appointments over the next three months. Plus I have to put this clear, foul-tasting gel which is somehow bleach on these plastic retainer things and stick them in my mouth for two hours at a time every day for two weeks. If I happen to be surprised into holding a conversation during these sessions, I sound like Lispy McSpeechimpediment. Suddenly I have become what I once mocked: High Maintenance.
How will this affect my overall appearance? Well, let's do a history, shall we?
I'm going to be using the usual 10-point scale for the following ratings (basing score on looks only; guys, if you're ugly and want to get a girl much hotter than you are, be rich, famous, or funny- preferably all three).
I think I'm probably about a 4.6 currently. Not repulsive, but certainly not desirable. I was cursed at birth by being born a male redhead with little-to-no chin. I also have no discernable muscle definition (except in my gorgeous calves, which are like 9's), I'm pale as hell (except for these lady-killing freckles), and have a pretty solid beer gut. In high school, I was probably even a worse score- maybe like a 3.4, because I was still a male redhead, but also gangly with bad skin. I might as well have been that recurring teenage character with the crappy jobs on "The Simpsons." Ask any of the plethora of girls who turned me down back then if you don't believe me.
There probably was a day in college where I was my ideal weight: not too skinny and not too fat. I'm thinking it was in May of 1996, my sophomore year (up to a 5.5, perhaps). Then I had four 30-ounce King Cobras that night while watching "Party of Five," and that was that. I've been trying to get back to that weight ever since.
That brings us to today. A few people have already noticed that my teeth look whiter and straighter; I think that might bring me up to a solid 5.0. I still have two appointments left, and I'm hoping they vault me up to a 5.4 or so, near my college-age peak. I'm also dieting, attempting (most likely in vain) to lose 15-20 pounds by the time I get my tuxedo fitted.
On the day of my wedding, if my teeth are straight and white, and I'm wearing a slammin' tux which fits snuggly around a semi-svelte frame, and I gel my hair just right, I'm thinking best-case scenario I might be able to pass for a 6.1...maybe even a 6.4 if the lighting is low.
Of course, I'll be getting committed for life, where looks cease to matter much, if at all, and the irony will be so thick I'll probably stumble over it on my way down the aisle.
Good thing I'm marrying an 8.1. I told you chicks dig the funny ones.