Welcome back to Storytime With Mustafa. This time, the story is about me, believe it or not. This is the story of my visit to the dentist, the most hated place in the country, after the DMV.

I was born a normal child, but after my baby teeth had all fallen out, it became apparent that I was not normal, for I had a baby tooth that would not come out! *GASP* This tooth was a stubborn little thing, and would not come out of my mouth no matter how hard I pulled or how many apples I bit into. I even tried tying the string from my tooth to the door handle and tried to slam it, but the door shattered into pieces. The tooth was often the subject of (unpleasant) conversation, and after I turned thirteen and a half, it was time to hit the dentist.

The dentist office was a sketchy, ragtag sort of building hidden in the slums known as Avenue J. The building was aptly named “Dentist.” When I entered, the dentist saw my tooth and immediately said, “Eww, what is that? That is disgusting!” And from there, it was decided that I needed to wear braces…with spacers. Nights of rinsing my mouth with the saltiest water of the Red Sea remained on my mind for ages even after, and monthly checkups to tighten my braces were nights to remember.

One day, I walk into the building, and the orthodontist (the fellow who hardly shows up and is responsible for your braces) calls to me by name, which is never a good thing. He then proceeds to inform me that he will be turning me into a human slinky by putting a spring in my mouth. He informs me that in order to remove that ingrained baby tooth, he needs to space out my teeth so the surgeon would have more elbow room, and so I could get a modeling career for The Gap.

So here you have this ugly pubescent child with a giant gap, and one tiny tooth in the middle, waiting in the chair for the orthodontist to do his job. All I hear around me are shouts and screams, as if people are being tortured, but it turns out they all came from one person. I hear someone say, “Stop yelling, I haven’t even put in the drill yet!” What a pansy, right?

So the next time I come in, it is time for surgery. I walk into the room, and the surgeon is waiting with an eerie smile (just kidding, he has a mask on), ready to inflict pain upon me. He opens my mouth and shoves his big scalpel in, his back and forth motion cutting my gums to reveal the anchors of the baby tooth. He then takes his syringe and deftly squirts his numbing fluid to pacify the baby tooth. Once he cuts off part of my jaw, and removes the baby tooth, he stitches my gums shut, and the operation is over.

So the next time I come around, my gums are closed. And guess what he does? He opens them again and sticks a gold chain to my adult tooth and hooks it to my slinky braces to “pull it down.” So after the tooth comes down and the braces are off, I feel like a normal human being again. So, kids, the moral of the story is to always brush your teeth, never forget how it feels to chew 5 Gum, and do not trust the local handyman to make your braces because it is cheaper.