Long-time readers of Archives of Our Lives might recall that my husband, Poor Kyle, is missing his three front teeth.
Here’s how the story goes: Poor Kyle was in fourth grade (Grade 4, Canadians!). He had a bike. He was riding his bike down Mayberry’s Main Street, when, in an unfortunate instance of randomness, the bike’s front wheel fell off its frame, and Wee Poor Kyle, in turn, fell off the seat. He collided with the pavement and erased his face, essentially:
Poor Wee Kyle. Just look at that face. (Image courtesy of my mother-in-law.)
His two front teeth died and became unsightly, so they were given cosmetic caps. Over the years, one already-weak tooth broke off completely, so a third tooth was shaved down make room for a bridge. I’m getting the story all wrong, I’m sure. But it went something like that.
The most recent bridge collapsed at our wedding reception when we chomped into this apple. It made for an awkward honeymoon, that’s for dang sure.
At present, it would be silly to continue getting bridges, because each bridge weakens yet another otherwise healthy tooth.
So now, Poor Kyle has a retainer with three false replacement teeth, which he wears around in public. This is a temporary solution (temporary as in, “this’ll do until we can bite the painful bullet and pay many thousands of dollars—two times the cost it would be to pay off Tamra Camry, in fact—to get him implants, which even then aren’t insured and have no lifetime guarantee).
The very chompers.
Poor Kyle was not happy to surrender his false teeth for this photo op. But he did it. For me. He’s a good man.
Thanks to the permanently temporary retainer, if you were to meet Poor Kyle walking down the street today, he would look something like this:
A fine-looking fellow, if I do say so myself.
(Actually, come to think of it, if you were to meet Poor Kyle walking down the street, you’d probably also see a winged pig flying through the clouds, because my husband will not go on a walk down the street for love nor money (and I’ve tried offering both), so long as there is a vehicle he could drive instead. {Although, a few days ago, he did suggest we walk to his parents’ house, and I was so excited at the idea that I had my shoes and socks on before he could even say, “In thirty minutes.”})
But more often than not, when he’s at home chillin’ with me, he looks like this:
How’s that for a face only a wife could love? It’s a good thing I didn’t know about his dental drawbacks before we got married; I’m not sure how I would have handled having a toothless boyfriend. As it is, we’re both cool with it. My husband is toothless—big whoop.
More recently, Poor Kyle was spotted sporting his cheesy, toothless grin on the tropicalicious beaches of Grand Cayman. That’s comfort at its finest, I’d say. Take off the shirt, take of the flip-flops, take out the teeth...sigh…
Despite the fact that Poor Kyle is secure with his appearance (and I’ve come to terms with it), things can nevertheless get a little awkward when we’re eating dinner with people who don’t know about his missing teeth. He has to take his teeth out to eat, you see, and he’s mastered the art of sneakily tucking the retainer away during meals, but it’s kind of impossible to contribute to conversations without making it obvious. For example, when meeting David and Shalynna, the wonderfully sweet couple who loaned us their house in Grand Cayman last month, there were a few moments at dinner where we were sure he’d been exposed.
I was tempted to face up and simply say, “Hey, Poor Kyle’s gonna take out his teeth now, so don’t freak out, okay?” It seemed less awkward to get it out in the open like that, as opposed to sneaking around and never relaxing throughout the entire meal. But it just wasn’t my place to tattle on Poor Kyle’s poor teeth.
In fact, it still isn’t. But I just did. And, for the record, I do feel lots better now.
Now, who’s ready to have us over for dinner?
