I am surrounded by people with glorious teeth who are oblivious to the fact that each they flash their naturally five star nashers, a little part of me dies. My flatmate's are sickeningly perfect, my best friend's laugh at me in their arrogance of divine each time she smiles, and lately I have become transfixed by the teeth of actors in movies rather than the scene; I'm reaching a fever pitch of enamel envy, and I don't do envy.
On my wish lists each year, sometimes every six months depending on how things are going, 'Hollywood teeth' always feature along with the ususal suspects: some rock hard abdominals, a book deal, and a Cartier Love bracelet, one must dream. Recently though my teeth, in particular my front two star crossed lovers, have been pushed to the forefront of my mind for two reasons: my friends are ALL getting work done, and my recent brush with TV broadcasting. Okay, so they are not that bad, they are a nice white with a little over crowding on the lowers, but the front two overlap giving me a side profile that would make any director shout "Next!" I am not, red carpet worthy.
It is my own stupid teenage fault too. I was an avid thumb sucker from the minute a popped out of the womb, and I flatly refused to wear the plates given to me by an unsympathetic denist who never liked me from the off. I am also incredibly resilient to anesthetic; one syringe in and I can feel everything, a second syringe - still can. NO ONE believes me, but will ask, "Why are you flinching?" BECAUSE I CAN FEEL IT YOU F***! So lets just say, the dentist chair and I have a Taylor Burton of relationships. I did however find a wonderful dentist once who 'got me' and we did some fabulous work together: numerous white fillings, a pro whitening treatment, and even a root canal with three syringes of dope was a success. But the straightening just never happened, mainly because I live on peanuts, and partly because each time I do have an amount of money worth more than a big Tesco's shop, I want to go to New York.
My years as a singer were always tinged with a slight stage panic anytime I had an audience either side of me; my front toothed overlap and unscupltured chin/neck bulge (which I have discovered I can suck the fat out of for a mere 3K, it's on the list) were enough to make me feel more self conscious than a Z lister gatecrashing the front row at fashion week, awkward. When I dabbled in acting, I couldn't tell if I was any good as I was too busy watching the light reflect off my sticky-out-front-one, and the lowers looking like they trying to break out of jail. I even pulled a Gwyneth Platrow v Vanity Fair on one interview I did which appeared on YouTube and demand they remove it ASAP. They probably thought I was a total bitch, but the reality was my pixie crop hair mixed with wonky teeth that were giving me nightmares: alt delete, relax.
Fast forward to today, and as I writer my teeth are not any editors concern, ah! The relief. However, fate recently intervened and I was back on camera again as I was asked to interview a celebrity for a TV channel. I was off camera, but as I was a hit the crew suggested I think about filming a series of interviews for them. My first response? "What about these?" As I tapped my two front teeth "Need to go Hollywood," A massive laugh from the crew followed of course - but I was deadly serious. It was bad enough being outed on YouTube so actual TV? No way, it's Hollywood or nothing. A collection of close friends are all having the invisalign treatment too, it's like someone making out with your partner in front of you: AGNONY! They have the funds, damn them! Plus none of them have the crossroads situation going on like I do, and their comfort is to tell me "Your teeth give you character!" YOU KNOW, I THINK I HAVE ENOUGH. Character my arse. The possible promise of daytime TV and the fact that every single one of my friends are on the way to winning a dental Oscar, has indeed awoken a fire in me to have an unbelievably lucrative 2014, if ONLY for the dental plan. Believe, receive, and smile.