Will a new set of choppers expand your emotional life or just shrink your bank account?

Trust him. My stomach gnashed as I swallowed the grit. He's her dentist. Trust him.

In my ears came the howl of a drill grinding the enamel off my teeth. He's Cindy Crawford's dentist. You've got to trust him. It didn't work. No matter how many times I repeated the mantra, I couldn't silence that other voice that pleaded, Lord, please don't let me end up with Jimmy Carter teeth.

There was no turning back. That's the pact you make with porcelain veneers. You can try to customize your teeth, choose your tint and shape, even ask for a Tom Cruise smile. But once that half millimeter of enamel is removed, you can never have your old teeth returned to you.

It would have been a lot easier to step into that chair if my mouth had been smashed in a car wreck, if I'd taken tetracycline as a kid and had a swampy smile or if I'd been about to audition to be a News at Five weatherman.