A Cautionary Tale of Toothy Awkwardness

I am awkward. And when I say awkward, I don’t mean like the shy person who gets uncomfortable in large groups or occasionally says the wrong thing. No. Those are microdose awkward moments.

I am megadose awkward.

I’m the kind of awkward that makes me come home, shut the door, and vow never to go out among humans again because it’s too painful for me and whoever crossed my path that day. Last Saturday was one of those days — the kind that makes me consider putting myself under voluntary house arrest. Let me tell you what happened, and then you can decide if I should be allowed to roam freely in society.

It started innocently enough: a lunch date with my husband at Olive Garden. We walked in, and the hostess led us to the bar area — the one with the long, shared bench against the wall and individual chairs on the other side. As we approached our table, I noticed who I’d be sharing the bench with: my orthodontist from over 30 years ago.

No problem, right? Except I knew she’d recently lost her husband, retired, and I assumed she had moved away. So, when I saw her, I got excited.

The closer I got, the bigger my smile grew, and when I finally reached her, instead of politely saying, “Well, hello, Dr. Parker! What a surprise — it’s so good to see you,” I bent down… got right in her face… violated every known boundary of personal space… close enough to smell the garlic on her breath...and smiled so big that not only were my teeth showing, but my gums were too. I looked like a rabid dog about to bark.

And why? Not because I was that excited to see her, but because I wanted her to notice that I recently got Invisalign. I wanted her to know I was doing a second round of orthodontic treatment after all these years. For some reason, the excitement I felt about sharing this with her shut off my personal etiquette filter.

"Hello, I am three months into adult orthodontia" would have been a perfectly reasonable conversation starter, but I gave her absolutely no explanation before leading into my full dental display.

So, there I stood, inches from her face, grinning like a dental maniac, when it hit me that Invisalign trays are, in fact, invisible, so she couldn’t see a thing, despite our unfortunate proximity. I blurted out, “Look! I got Invisalign! I think all the time, ‘I sure wish Dr. Parker was still in practice.’”

She just smiled politely and said, “Well, that’s exciting.” Honestly, I think she was a little afraid, and I couldn't blame her.

I slid onto the bench — now shared with the poor woman I had just ambushed — and scooted as far away as possible so she wouldn’t feel the need to call 911. I ate in near silence, answering only the questions from my husband and the server that absolutely required responses.

Then, in a moment of pure Stacey brilliance, I decided to “redeem” the interaction. I pulled out my phone, opened a photo of my now‑adult son (who also had braces with her 30 years ago), zoomed in on his mouth, and proudly explained how beautiful his teeth still are thanks to her handiwork. (Why I thought that showing her that he ALSO had teeth and they were straight was a good idea, I will never know.)

She was polite again. Bless her.

I wrapped it up by telling her it was good to see her, apologizing to the two people who had been enjoying a quiet lunch before I arrived, like some kind of dental stalker, and walking out.

I held my head high, trying to convince myself it wasn’t as bad as it felt. But once I got to the car, it hit me like a freight train. Clearly, I am not fit for public interaction.

I told my poor husband the whole story — he hadn’t heard any of it, lucky man — and then informed him he needed to take me home and never let me leave again. Lock me away like Rapunzel.

After taking some time to ponder my awkwardness, I did the only logical thing that I could think of that would alleviate any thought she had that I was some weirdo with a tooth fetish: I sent her a Facebook friend request. I felt that if she knew me, she would love me.

She hasn’t accepted yet, but I’m sure she’s just busy filling out the restraining order paperwork, and once we go before the judge, she will see my perfect smile and forgive my painful awkwardness.