Two years of school, a licence, and a job the public still thinks is "cleaning teeth." This is the piece that finally treats it like what it is. GUARDIANS OF THE GUMLINE arches over an engraved heraldic shield, a single tooth held as the charge, cradled in a laurel wreath, and an unfurled ribbon below states the rule of the order: SCALE · POLISH · PROTECT.
There isn't a joke in it anywhere. The whole category is puns in plain type; this is a coat of arms, drawn properly. It is the graduation gift a family can buy without getting it wrong, a keepsake, not a punchline.
Thick, warm and structured, with cuffs and a waistband that hold their shape. The shield's field is left open, so the sweatshirt itself shows through as the heraldry intended, offered in a range of light shades.
No year, no cohort, nothing to date it. It's the one she'll still be pulling on for winter clinic in ten years.
For the licence, and the years it took.
