Dear Diary. I'm sitting in a dentist chair. My mouth is open and a dentist is poking around my teeth with a little metal stick.

She's taking off my braces. After two years of wearing braces, I'm finally getting them taken off today.

It's been a long road, getting from there to here. It's been a long time, but my time is finally near. Hang on, I think those are the lyrics to Enterprise.

"All done," she says. "You can sit up now."

Bloody hell, that was fast.

I sit up. I touch my teeth. And the braces are still there.

"So come back in another month and we'll see if we can take them off then," she says.

Hang on: another month?

Actually, she did say something about that earlier, but I wasn't paying attention.

Also there's something new on my teeth. I can feel it with my tongue. It's along the back of my bottom front teeth. I don't know what it is. I guessing it's more braces?

So instead of taking my braces off, she's put more braces on. So much for the party I had planned to celebrate my braces removal. Katy Perry was going to come and everything.

After the appointment, I must be in shock because I walk to my old apartment by accident. When I get there, I say, "Oh fuck," realising I don't live there anymore.

Today, by the way, I'm dressed like a 12-year-old kid. I have shorts, a baseball cap, a T-shirt with a picture of a crocodile with butterfly wings, and a Goosebumps book tucked into my back pocket.

After braces, the next thing I'll have to get is teeth whitening. And this is a slippery slope because I'll end up looking like one of these Geordie Shore women with fake tans and fake boobs. And I'm not sure I'm ready to fake boobs yet.