Free at last, free at last, break out the Jiffy Pop, I'm free at last!

After four cheek-gouging, floss-shredding, spinach-trapping years, I finally have my braces off. Yessiree, gone are those damnable brackets and wires. To the dustbin goes my goofy closed-mouth smile-smirk (see above. Or, better, don't). Behold, ye who dare, the unobscured glory of my oversized, coffee-stained — but straight! — chompers!

You'll forgive my exuberance in this moment of sublime personal triumph. When I first had my braces put on, the plan called for a relatively speedy 18 months of tightening and straightening, tightening and straightening. But, as it was for the castaways of "Gilligan's Island," the best-laid plan (a three-hour tour ...) went all awry, and some four years of high jinks and hilarity ensued.

I recall feeling reticent about even getting the darn things. Why make my already youngish mug look any more adolescent? But, as the good folks at Dr. Kimi Caswell's office assured me, braces aren't just for kids anymore. Even Tom Cruise wore 'em — an effective selling point since, y'know, me and Tom have so much in common.

While my not-so-pearly whites may have resembled centuries-old cemetery gates more than fresh, white picket fences, I was more than literally attached to their awkward appearance.

Still, vanity prevailed. I couldn't help imagining the novelty of having something straight in that asymmetrical wonder I like to call my head.

Fortunately, I couldn't have picked a better person to handle the job than Dr. Caswell, an orthodontist well known for her excellent work and, requisite for my specific case, a deep well of patience. For as she and her staff would learn, I am the Zeus-daddy of noncompliant patients.

Instructed to wear my rubber bands 24-7, I'd take them off 24 paces out of the office and put them back on seven (maybe six) minutes before my next appointment. I kept my "Foods to Avoid" list at my desk, right under my bowl of hard candy and just left of the beef jerky. I missed appointments like Shaq misses free throws. (And, with my mouth full of metal, I sounded just like him.)

And so it went, year after year, my teeth lazily falling into formation, my left-of-center midline aligning itself at geologic pace.

When the day finally came to remove my braces, Dr. Caswell's staff feted me with lei and a photo — an appropriate graduation-style celebration if, in fact, it hadn't actually taken me six years to finish college.

Hmm, six years for college but only four for my braces — that's progress, right?

Maybe I'm not such a slacker after all. Maybe I'm getting faster with age. The mind boggles! What else am I capable of?

Instant oatmeal in less than an hour? A 20-minute mile?

This column by deadline?

Brace yourself!

Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com.