I’m self conscious enough about it to not want it to be the “hero” of photos, but not self conscious enough to get it fixed.
All around me, people in their 20s and 30s are getting braces, but I feel somehow zen about looking like Austin Powers.
There are reasons why I should be more self conscious than I am.
Jed recently asked me, “Mum, can I touch your skewif teeth?” I said yes. After a brief examination, the verdict: “Don’t worry Mum, they will fall down soon”. Apparently being toothless would be an improvement, and I had that to look forward to.
I told mum the story and she commented that before I was born, she always assumed her crossed tooth was the result of a childhood accident where she smashed her teeth on a ladder. Turns out, it was genetic. Fancy that!
For good measure, my bottom tooth is also crossed. I inherited that from Dad.
What a lucky roll of the genetic dice!
In terms of photos, sometimes it’s barely noticeable, but other times, if the angle is right, it reflects light like the medallion in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
A couple of years back, I asked the dentist about general teeth whitening. The situation wasn’t desperate, but everyone else was doing it and I was getting curious.
He told me it wouldn’t be worth it unless I paid $5000 to get my teeth straightened too, otherwise the crossed tooth would appear disproportionately “white” and look like a light sabre.
But bloody hell, I just didn’t care enough! It’s the same with my freckles. Don’t care. Even when I get called a “freckled face version of Sarah Hansen-Young”. Don’t care. My legs are so white I have used their glow to navigate dark rooms. Do I care? No. It’s actually handy if you don’t have a torch.
Why am I writing about this? Partly because I was short of material tonight, and partly because it’s the start of a New Year and I wanted to kick off 2021 with a positive message, of acceptance.
On that note, I’ll rewrite the premise of this post … What’s wrong with this photo? Nothing.
