Cycling

We're on the four week program.

First, in week one, the braces get tightened. They hurt. I feel miserable and Quasimodo-like and I just want to sleep and hide and be left alone. I can't chew and I feel about as attractive as Abe Vigoda. In week two, the teeth start to move into place and I get used to their new positions. I figure out foods that I can eat and the shy turtle that I've turned into comes out of her shell and peeks a curious head out. In week three I can't remember why I was so damn cranky. I feel great. I run in the park. I plan European trips. I wear fishnets. But then of course, it's time to get these suckers tighetened again and the cycle starts all over.

It can lead one to drink.

That said, my dear friend Diana challenged me the other night to go to a bar, sit on a nice leather stool and just see what happens. She told me that all this fear I have of being unsightly is all in my head--and this experiment would prove it. She told me to do this when I'm feeling fine and fishnetty and also to do this when I'm wasting away again in Quasimodoville.

Her challenge has been echoing in my mind since she threw down the gauntlet. As I took a nice lunch hour outside in the phenomenal weather yesterday, I was thinking about whether or not I would do it. I walked down the crowded street with everyone showing lots of skin and bright colors. I was utterly lost in thought when a man passed me and said distinctly into my ear, "Sexy."

10-4, Roger that. Loud and clear.