The Deuce goes heavy metal.

While I'm pleased that my girls have inherited many of my finer traits -- my luscious brown hair and sparkling wit not to be excluded -- I lament that they've also got my teeth. That is, crooked teeth. Teeth that need to be pulled and wired into proper position to achieve a somewhat respectable appearance.

So, it was no surprise when our dentist referred the girls to an orthodontist who would whip those snaggled teeth into shape.

Well, yesterday we reached a key milestone in The Deuces's treatment plan. She got her brackets.

The picture is blurry because she wouldn't stop dancing around long enough for me to take it.

I KNOW! She looks so much older with that mouth full of metal.

The kid was all smiles until the orthodontist handed her the list of dos and don'ts which included nixing gum, popcorn, corn chips, soda and hard candy. Deuce was incredulous and attempted to bargain with the doc.

"Yeah, but if I only suck on the candy and don't crunch it, plus I'll brush my teeth right away, I promise."

No dice. The doc wouldn't budge. She handed Deuce a laminated sheet with the clear intention of scaring her into compliance. It was the horrid look-what-happens-if-you-don't-follow-my-advice photos. There was shot after shot of hideously mangled brackets and permanently discolored incisors.

In the end, The Deuced promised to follow the orthodontist's orders. She skipped back to school with her tiny pocket toothbrush in hand.

My little girl's growing up.