Day Sixteen: Curse the Retainer!

The month of November is National Blog Posting Month. This is my 5th year participating. This year, for thirty days, I'll be telling stories from some point in my life. Enjoy!



I've mentioned before that as a kid, making the pilgrimage to Mecca, aka Disneyland, was a ritual. A rite of passage. Something we could count on doing at least every two years or so.

Oh, I love Disneyland.

On such trip was at the end of 9th grade. I had just gotten my braces off. I had a retainer.

Ick. The retainer and I had only been in a relationship for about a month. We weren't getting along. I secretly wished that he would get up and walk out of my life but, since he was trapped in my mouth except when I was eating, there wasn't much hope of him going AWOL. A retainer-napping perhaps, but no running away.

I spent the better part of every day flipping it out of my mouth with my tongue; flipping it around in my mouth with my tongue; and doing everything I could to get rid of it.

Flash forward to D-land. The Indiana Jones ride had just opened. I had no idea what to expect - had been standing in a 27 hour line to get on the ride, and loaded up in one of the adventure jeeps with my sister, cousins, and other family members.

The ride was great. It was exciting and fun and air conditioned. It was 3 minutes of bliss until the very end. (side note: why are we willing to stand in a 2 hour line for a 3 minute ride? I don't get it.)

You know that part at the end where the boulder is coming towards you and then you duck down under it and the ride is over? Yeah, that part. As our jeep whooshed down, my tongue flicked up and my retainer flew. Out. Of. My. Mouth.

You have no idea how much my 15 year old brain panicked.

Frantic.

I knew it was expensive. I knew that my parents had been telling me for weeks to stop flipping it out of my mouth.

I new I was dead meat and that by the time I got out of the ride all my teeth would return to crooked and I'd not only be in trouble but have to start the 3 year braces adventure all over again.

Sweat. Panic. Stomachache.

That was, until I finally opened my eyes and decided to breathe.

My cousin was sitting in front of me. She had long, wavy, curly hair. In her mess of hair was my retainer, perched every so gently. Tangled really. Staring at me. Daring me to every try and get rid of it, intentionally or accidentally, ever again.

I was saved by the hair.

The hair rescued me from pain and torture.

And saved my teeth from being eternally crooked.