Redo, redo, redo.

Put a little paint on this old barn, did you notice?

MILK TEETH is a reference to an accident I had when I was seven. A group of children at school were playing tag. Soon Kayla joined in. Kayla was sweet and beautiful and kind, and slightly intellectually disabled. Her mother drove a red convertible and always left inky lipstick kisses on her cheek (it was 1994, guys). We were all running around the uneven cement court until we got tired and stopped the game. I don't think Kayla understood that the game had finished, or maybe she was so excited to be in the game that she didn't notice. I turned to tell her just as she tagged me, running full pelt at my back. Off balance, I crashed forward. I didn't even have time to bring my hands up to protect my face.

Getting up from the cement, I felt like my mouth was full of gravel. I spat and pearly chips landed on the ground. The front of my mouth was a gaping hole. I don't remember my mouth hurting at all, but the gravel rash on my shins stung like hell. Then I remember being really pissed off, because I had to sit  really still next to the teacher with the broken off teeth in a glass of milk. Why a glass of milk? I wondered. Why did I have to sit still? My teeth felt strange and tingly as I breathed. I was rushed off to the dentist and had two crowns capped over the top two, and strange resin caps over the bottom four. I was in the dentists for hours. I loved it. I loved the banana flavoured fluoride, I loved the pictures of teeth on the walls and I loved the soothing voice of my dentist.

I still love going to the dentist. My top front teeth still have a gap between them, and the left is still moulded like a milk, or baby, tooth. It's barely noticeable, but it's one of my favourite parts of myself.