Well, the last remaining temporary veneer bit the dust – or rather, the bread, because that’s what I was eating at the time – about an hour ago. I’m now the proud owner of not one, but two freaky looking teeth, and with just six short weeks to go until my wedding day, am now uglier than I have ever been in my entire life – and I’m including those lost years with the poodle perm and the Liam Gallagher eyebrows in that statement.
Seriously, I look absolutely repulsive, and I’m not saying that in an attention-seeking, "tell me I’m pretty!" kind of way, but in a "no, I really do look repulsive" kind of way. Even the dog won’t look me in the eye at the moment. And OK, I know it’s really superficial to be whining about my teeth when as we all know, it’s inner beauty that counts – INNER BEAUTY, people – but GOD, I wish I could hide in a darkened room until Monday.
Just to add to all the fun, the PEG TOOTH and its pal, having been hidden from the world for 16 years now, aren’t exactly filled with joy to be feeling the wind upon their faces again. They’re both really, really sensitive: even breathing in sharply is painful, so at least I won’t be tempted to hit the Ben & Jerry’s for a while, even although I SO RICHLY DESERVE IT.
My torment will end on Monday at 1pm. However, a new fear has now risen it’s ugly head – or ugly teeth, rather. The new fear: what if the new veneers fall off too? What if they fall off on the day of the wedding, and I have to get married looking like this? Would it be reasonable to invite my dentist to the wedding, do you think, just in case? And to include the words "even if the PEG TOOTH comes back" in Terry’s wedding vows?
Figures I would wait until the month before the wedding to get all Bridezilla, doesn’t it? And I was doing so well, too…
OK, last post about my teeth, I promise*. Even although I know how utterly gripped by the whole saga you all are.
* Until Monday, obviously.