LINE ME BACK UP, baby.

Dr Smiar’s blue gloves are in my mouth, and as I look up at his wiry Kenny G frame (hair too, except he’s a blonde), I feel as foolish as we all feel with someone’s hands spreading open our mouth, you know – in a non-sexual way.

Not that I was thinking about sexual things in Dr Smiar’s office.  It’s an orthodontics office, for Chrissakes! We were surrounded by middle schoolers – or maybe they’re younger.  I can’t tell anymore.

Dr Smiar does this thing where he pats my arm reassuringly after we talk about my teeth.  When I gaze down at my shoes, pointed toward one another, I feel exactly like I’m one of the kids in that open-air treatment room.  I look to my left at someone I hopes name is Bobby.  He looks like a Bobby.  He’s staring at his phone.  Shit, I didn’t think to grab my phone.  I look to my right at someone I hopes name is Molly.  I don’t know, it’d be funny if kids named Molly and Bobby were sitting to the right and left of me, that’s all.  I imagine they’re my angel and devil.  Bobby’s obviously the devil.  Molly doesn’t need to be on her phone, she’s sweetly looking straight ahead out of the large glass window.

Maybe I’m creepy, staring at the kids next to me.  But it doesn’t matter, I’m a young lady; I can stare.  I think this defiantly, as I square my shoulders and try to keep my head back.  There’s a squirrel trying to get into a bird feeder, what a bastard.  And Smiar has returned, seated on his stool which is much bigger than his ass, advising me to be sure I wear my retainer nightly this time.

When I answer him, it’s like my voice is exactly the same voice as a sixth grader.  Besides, I have the slightest lisp. I shuffle out of my seat and feel happy to be back there, as if I’m not thirty-two at all, I’m twenty-seven again.  My teeth only shifted a bit since then, but I’m vain enough to notice it.

Bobby’s still firmly attached to his phone, and I want to “tsk” at him, but I really kind of get the devil.