Spittin’ Game

“Hey Ma (what’s up?) / Let’s slide (alright) / Alright / Then we gon’ get it on tonight.” – Cam’ron, “Hey Ma”

My mouth has been causing me trouble since I was twelve years old. No, I take that back.  It started when I was about eight, in the second grade.  I kept getting caught talking in class; so, my mother came to school with me one day.  And sat in a little mini chair next to me.  For the entire school day.  All. Day. Long.

But the real trouble started when I was twelve.  I was the only sixth grader who hadn’t lost all of their baby teeth. Go ahead – get the visual.  30 grown up teeth and two tiny baby teeth stuck between them.  It was ridiculous.  Then on a trip to Washington, DC to visit my grandmother my tooth broke and we had to make an emergency trip to the dentist to have it removed.  When said tooth never grew back, I had to get X-rays, which revealed that my two incisors were growing into the roots of my four front teeth.

ugly-bettySee, I told you.  Trouble.

When we found this out, it was decided that I needed to have braces to pull the teeth down and straighten things out.  Then the fun really begins. I get to have oral surgery to expose the delinquent teeth.  Great.  Except, while the wound is healing I had to walk around with clay molding and aluminum foil in my mouth for 3 weeks.  In MIDDLE school.  You don’t know sh*t about awkward years.

Then – I spent the next two years making the monthly trip to the orthodontist tighten my braces and pull the teeth down.  My grill was so effed up that my orthodontist used me to teach his students.  While I was sitting in the chair.  All fifteen of them.  Now you know why I threw out all of my school pictures between sixth and eight grade. It just wasn’t a good look.  Any of it.

And here I am, almost fourteen years later and my mouth is still giving me a bunch of grief.  Yesterday, I found myself enjoying one final day of vacation.  I can never quite bring myself back to reality after the New Year, so I rarely make the trek into the office on the first day back. It hurts too much.  Instead, I unpacked and cleaned and relaxed.  I also scheduled an appointment with a periodontist to have some work done (which, by the way, I think I need to marry one based on how much they charged me to only treat ONE HALF of my mouth!).  Since my periodontist is in Center City – a good 30 minutes from my house – I decided to make the most of it.

I arrived about thirty minutes early and headed straight to Starbucks.  I had my “laid back intellectual” gear on (black leggings, long black cardigan with a longer white shirt underneath, polka dot Wellies, black scarf, thick rimmed glasses, over-sized purse) and wanted to flaunt it with the smarties for a bit. As I sipped my honey mint tea I people watched . . . actually I just cutie watched before I made my way to my appointment. Once I got there, the doctor proceeded to numb me up (I hate that pinch you feel when they’re injecting the Novocain – there has got to be a better way).

After that, I can’t really tell you what that man did because I didn’t feel too much of it.  All I know is 35 minutes later they sent me on my way with a bag of gauze and a completely numb right side of my mouth.  At the elevator I spotted a foine specimen. I swear I h  eard music when he came walking – in slow motion – down the hallway (“You’re packed and you’re stacked / ‘specially from the back / Wanna thank your mother for a butt like that / Can I get some fries with that shake, shake booty / If looks could kill you would be an uzi / You’re a shotgun, bang! / What’s up with that thang?”)handsome-man

Tall. Chocolate complexion.  Waves that make you seasick.  1000 watt smile.  Oh yeah, and I swear, when I looked in his eyes I heard their twinkle. Oh, things were lookin’ up girls.  And thank the Lord Almighty above in heaven that the elevators take FOR-EV-ER in this building.  It gave me just enough time to chat him up, giggle and flash a smile.  And we chatted and chatted until the elevator finally came. And we stood right next to each other the whole ride down.  And, I kid you not, my heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty and butterflies were dancing in my stomach.  I had just enough time to give myself a pep talk and resolved to ask him out on our way out the door. I know, an incredibly uncharacteristic move on my part.

As the elevator opened we shuffled out into the lobby and headed toward the street.  As he held open the door for me I decided to make my move.

“So, uh . . . “
“Yeah, you have a little something – “

And as he said this to me, he gestured towards the corner of his mouth.  And as I reached to the right corner of my mouth I felt something warm and wet on my chin. Slowly the realization reached the neurons and synapses firing in my brain.  OMG!  I was drooling, literally, over him!  I’d been drooling the entire time we were talking and didn’t even realize.  In the words of NeNe, “How dreadful!” Drooling, like a baby!  I can’t believe it.  As the horror washed over my body I quickly moved past him and made a vow to myself.

I will only take the steps.

Signed,
Spittin’ Game Barbie

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~ by countryclubbarbie on January 7, 2009.

6 Responses to “Spittin’ Game”

  1. awwww you’ll be okay! Just… you know… gotta be a lil more careful next time. Plus, it could have been worse… you COULD have been spitting ON him and not have realized it… see, dont you feel better now???? :)

  2. Oh. Ouch. Well, you can take comfort in knowing that you don’t normally drool. At least from what I’ve seen. :)

  3. [...] Let’s get something straight.  I don’t do sad photographs. I end up looking stupid.  Like when they make you take the “serious” senior portrait in High School and College.  I just end up looking like a deer in headlights. I just like the song.  But I smile in pictures.  It works out better for me that way.  And, when I look back over the pictures they make me smile.  And feel a little nostalgic.  I can’t help it – it’s who I am.  One of my favorite things about venturing back to my parents house is going through the photographs.  My mom has dozens and dozens of photo albums – some from her and my dad’s childhood, teenage and college years and, of course, photo albums filled with me and my brother (although you’ll still be hard pressed to find my middle school years). [...]

  4. [...] black and STILL single” conversation at every. single. turn.  I probably should have kept my big mouth shut.  Because now I can’t seem to escape the darn conversation. Especially this past [...]

  5. [...] no secret that my mouth has gotten me in trouble (we’ve talked about this). Sometimes, it’s what I say. Sometimes, it’s how I say it. Usually, it’s both. I [...]

  6. [...] at the Dreamhouse, I waxed poetic about how my mouth has been getting me in trouble for as loooooong as I can remember.  I talked so much in the second grade that my mom actually sat next to me in school to make sure [...]

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