My parents dropped six grand to make sure my teeth would look like a row of tiny porcelain gravestones, and all I got was three years of eating apples in shameful little slices like a Victorian orphan.
Let's talk about braces, America's favorite childhood rite of passage that nobody consents to.
You're twelve, you've got a mouth full of jagged rocks, and suddenly an orthodontist is welding a miniature suspension bridge to your face.
The pitch is always the same: suffer now, smile later.
Your teeth ache like someone took a tiny crowbar to them, which, spoiler, they basically did.
You can't eat anything harder than a wet noodle.
And then the wax comes out, those sad little nubs you press onto the metal spikes that are currently excavating the inside of your cheeks.
Then there's the tightening appointments.
Every four to six weeks, some cheerful professional cranks a wire like they're tuning a guitar that hates you.
You leave feeling like you went ten rounds with a stapler.
But hey, they give you a new color for the bands, so it's basically a spa day.
Don't even get me started on headgear, that medieval torture device they swear is "just for nighttime." Nothing says "I'm thriving" like strapping a metal cage to your skull before bed and praying your sibling doesn't post a photo.
The real scam is that after all this, they hand you a retainer and act like the job's done.
Skip that plastic mouth guard for two nights and your teeth migrate back like they've got a timeshare in your old crooked layout.
Sometimes, in that vague way where they can't place what changed about your face but assume you got a haircut.
Meanwhile you've spent your formative years dodging popcorn, corn on the cob, and any food that requires a confident front-tooth bite.
Orthodontia is one of the few industries where you pay thousands upfront for a product you can't see for years, delivered by someone who hurts you on a schedule.
Try that business model with literally anything else and see how it goes.
Now every adult with a slightly imperfect bite is getting Invisalign and posting unboxing videos like they just bought a new iPhone.
Congratulations, you spent your vacation fund on clear plastic trays and a lisp.
Look, if you had braces, you survived something.
If your kid needs them, my condolences to your wallet.
And if you've got a naturally straight smile you were born with, congrats on winning a genetic lottery you did absolutely nothing to earn.
The real takeaway here is that we've collectively agreed to torture children for the aesthetic approval of strangers, and we call it healthcare.
Your teeth might end up perfect, but your memory of pudding dinners and cheek wax will haunt you forever.
Final Thoughts
Ask me when I'm not still bitter about the headgear photos.