I genuinely am trying to live the life of the normal twenty-something. But being twenty-something with braces sometimes places me in compromising situations that no twenty-something, or any-something should find themselves in. Such was the case the other afternoon when I decided to go for a run through Arlington after a day at the office.
In an attempt to pacify my rumbling stomach, I elected to eat a few pita chips before the run, and then changed into my mesh shorts and moisture-wicking tee. As many metal mouths will attest, it is a common practice to tuck a snack away for later, and I have developed a subconscious habit of rolling my tongue along the outside of my brackets to dislodge these savory morsels. Some call this disgusting, I call it survival.
Well, this subconscious act, not even one block into my run, did not have the usual happy ending. Instead, for lack of better terminology, I found my tongue blade (the membrane that connects the tongue to the bottom of the mouth) hooked onto my lower left bracket. (I’ve since come to learn from Kyle that this is called the lingual frenulum, but I prefer my edgier name; tongue blade).
I had to immediately turn around, unable to retract my tongue into my mouth; instead looking severely challenged. I was drooling uncontrollably, and simply praying not to pass anyone I knew…or anyone I didn’t know for that matter.
Once behind closed doors and in the comfort of my own apartment, I attempted to unhook my tongue, meanwhile using a hand towel to control my slobber, before giving up all hope and upgrading to a drool bucket.
I could compose a florilegium describing the different techniques I used to free my tongue from the brace’s wrath, but to spare the graphic details, suffice it to say, I found myself desperate for assistance and fearful of finding myself in urgent care. I immediately began texting my Mer-friends to enlist their assistance in my mini-emergency. Thankfully, my neighbor Ellen remained composed and was able to decipher my words through my mumbling lisp. She provided me with the exact assistance I needed to separate blade from brace.
Thirty minutes and only a few drops of blood later, my tongue was free from the metallic grasp. Seriously? Seriously. Oh well, live and learn right?
...this tongue motion to "dislodge these savory morsels" is it reminiscent of the face you make when i do something less than appropriate?
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