I’m a little obsessive when it comes to my teeth. Forgoing orthodontics as a teen in exchange for assistance with purchasing my first car, I spent my young adulthood with a smile I abhorred. Fed up at 35 with my decidedly un-photogenic gob, I committed to adult braces. Two years later, my teeth emerged triumphant—straight as fence posts, attractively spaced, glistening and gleaming. I’m determined to keep them that way, even though that means wearing retainers every single night (still doing it two years later) and brushing like a maniac.