Back in the 80’s my dad did this thing where he’d get our attention and smile and sometimes there’d be this gaping hole where a tooth once was. Wide-eyed, we quickly looked at each other, did you see that? But by the time we took another peek for confirmation, the tooth was back. We were seeing things obviously, don’t believe your lying eyes kids. I can’t remember if we asked any clarifying questions or just accepted our dad was a wizard, but this kind of trickery runs in the family and now I get to be the wizard.

Remember that heat-seeking nail that attacked my face at Dog Dad Steve’s birthday and I was all like, what a gift! when it took a chunk of my front tooth instead of puncturing an eye or piercing a cheek or stabbing my throat? Turns out, it was playing the long game. Unlike bones, teeth can’t heal themselves and I had a visible fracture, but with my string of fairytale fortune and lack of insurance, I opted to give my body a shot. It did inch toward better every day, until it didn’t. Progress plateaued, leaving a slow’n steady death ache in its wake. The dentist I’d been avoiding confirmed the tooth had to go, not if but when.

It was time. My mouth was about to embark on a perilous six month journey completely out of my control. I accepted this fate with a strange sense of loss heavily tinged with the innocence of ease. I sailed through 44 years relatively unscathed before a g i n g  smacked me in the face, arriving not by Time, but by hitching a ride with Circumstance, one I couldn’t ignore: Required Maintenance. My mouth would now and forever be a question mark of need.

The visual consequence of this maiden voyage was an afterthought, one I only considered during the consult when my periodontist ensured me I wouldn’t have to walk out without a tooth after the extraction, they could have it delivered. Wait, what?

Turns out, a hard chunk of plastic with wire wings was the last thing I wanted in my mouth after having my central incisor plucked from my skull. The following day, my face swelled into primate shape (if there was ever any doubt on lineage, that’s gone) and the thought of snapping a slightly whiter imposter over a stitched up swollen gap seemed unnecessarily ridiculous, putting lipstick on a pig. The longer I contemplated going toothless, the more obvious the option became.

With the added hassle of removing the flipper every time I eat, as any all-day snacker might begin to wonder…why? What is the point of this charade? To make me visually appealing to others? Do I care how people see me? Does it matter what they think? Am I gonna let the inconveniently timed absence of one tooth over my most socially active months sour my summer narrative? This look is temporary, even if I’m the only one who knows that. Wouldn’t it be better to just own it?

My swollen gap-toothed smile performed its soft opening as I ran the idea of going without the flipper by Tessa on Marco Polo. Can you imagine? I think I’m gonna do it. I mean, I’m pretty fortunate I can even afford to get a new tooth. AND a flipper. A lot of people can’t.

I’m certainly lucky to have a choice to make, but I’d argue I’m luckier to have the courage and confidence to just not give a fuck. 

When Freddie lost six front teeth after he cheated death, the vet asked me if I’d like to replace them. As she went into detail of his potential future nightmare, not wanting to sound cheap, I questioned, does he uh, need them? He did not, they were purely cosmetic. She was asking if I wanted to put my neurotically beautiful perfect dog through major surgery to make him aesthetically pleasing to no one of importance. I was horrified. Oh my. No. Noooo. No. We don’t care about silly teeth he don’t even need…right Freddie? I assume Fred agreed, given the alternative.

To feel that way about a companion is a marvelous thing. But for a companion to feel that way about me is the most liberating experience in the world, as my friend Adriane pointed out while I workshopped going toothless with her in my kitchen. Girrrrl, isn’t it incredible to feel so safe, sooo loved, that you’re just like, teeth? Don’t need ’em.

I’d been thinking a lot about exactly that, if I could do this as courageously or confidently, or even at all without B in my orbit. He had no idea I was getting a flipper, kept talking ‘bout how cute I was gonna look, which was confusing as I genuinely never contemplated the extended period between extraction and implant. He was team toothless tosh from day zero.

In a world full of filters and botox and endless adverts for anti-aging everything, to feel so completely safe and loved and accepted that my surface appearance isn’t a part of any equation gives my outward form the freedom to fly. I shared this revelation with B on good ole Marco Polo driving back from spin with my tooth in, only slightly worried that dgaf attitude would falter if he wasn’t physically next to me to lean on.

B’s response, roughly transcribed:

I’m really happy that I bring you such comfort and confidence. But I hope that it carries over when I’m not around, because you do look cool, you do look fun with that missing tooth. It’s a good look for anybody! One of those novel cosmetic changes that is just kind of fuckin’ fun. It changes the atmosphere of the room as soon as someone enters with a missing tooth, especially missing a goddamn front tooth. You know? Like your story is so open-ended. Nobody knows where your narrative begins or where it’s gonna end. You could be the craziest motherfucker they ever met, and they don’t know yet. That’s who you are these days, tosh.

Two days after parting ways with tooth #9 (of course I kept it), I debuted my gap in a crowd full of friends + strangers at the High Noon Saloon boogieing to Big Richard tunes, and holy shit that was freeing. A brilliant social experiment. Really gotta kick outta folks who definitely knew I had all my teeth just last week, but waited for me to address the gap, as if it wasn’t the first thing they noticed. I assure you, it was. It’s a giant gap. Maybe a testament to the company I keep, perhaps more fairytale fortune, but I’ve never felt more accepted, appreciated and seen than I have walking about without that tooth. 

It’s incredible the power teeth hold over your entire appearance, or in my case, lack thereof. How it affects the vibe you throw, the energy you invite. How it’s capable of changing perspectives, the buckets people put you in, how it can lead to silently drawn conclusions or delightful discussions, all inspired by the gap. Everybody, it seems, has some sort of covered up tooth story. 

Sometimes you just gotta walk around toothless to collect them all.