FLOSS FIASCO

This blog has been a parade of confessions for me.  Today is no exception.  I hate to floss.

Unless there is a nugget wedged between my teeth, I try to avoid it at all costs.  My teeth are packed together very tightly, and it is hard to get the filament between them.  Forcing the thread between my teeth jars my brain and nearly cuts my floss-wrapped fingers to the bone.  Removing the strand from between my teeth is a lesson in experiencing whiplash.

You need to understand my aversion to flossing in order to continue reading and fully appreciate the anxiety that I felt in the following installment of My Life's Mishaps.

Girl8 and I were on a road trip.  I love road trips even more than I hate flossing.  To me, road trips mean loud music (I consider the Steve Miller Band the ultimate road trip music, closely followed by U2), great scenery and an all-around wonderful time away from home.  We crossed Snoqualmie Pass early in the morning and I thought it would be beneficial, in more than one way, to stop for breakfast at the Cottage Cafe in Cle Elum.  In a previous lifetime, it had a telephone, as well as a wall-mounted jukebox, in each booth.  It is a place frequented by truckers, which is a sure stamp of approval.

We both ordered eggs over medium, hash browns and sourdough toast.  It was everything that a road trip breakfast is supposed to be.  The hash browns were wonderfully crisp, the eggs were perfectly over medium, and the toast was tan and buttery.  I had water with my breakfast only because I'm funny about my coffee, ask anyone.

Afterwards we made the mandatory trip to the bathroom before resuming our long journey to the East.  I glanced at myself in the mirror while waiting for Girl8.  I was thinking that I looked quite respectable for being on a road trip - we had decided to wear our "travel skirts", which had proven to be very comfortable while making the wearers appear presentable in any situation.  I had put on earrings and for once, was rocking a decent hair day.  I gave myself a smug toothy smile in the mirror and was shocked by a piece of black pepper stuck smack between my teeth.

I tried to remember if I had flashed anyone what I thought to be my pearly whites on the way to the rest room, but I couldn't remember.  The pepper seemed to be perched right on the edge of my teeth, so naturally, I went after it with my fingernail.  This did nothing for me except to drive the pepper further into the crevice and make itself felt.  Not being a dedicated flosser, I did not have my mandatory supply of Glide tucked in my purse.  I looked around the sparse bathroom and my eyes lighted on the paper towels.  At that moment, it seemed a brilliant idea.

I ripped off a rectangle of the standard brown paper towel and immediately got to work on that piece of pepper.  The paper wasn't as stiff as I had hoped, and, due to the close-fitting teeth involved, it wasn't as effective as I had imagined.  In fact, the longer I worked at it, the paper got more and more wet and limp.  For one miraculous millisecond, I met with success, but then the unimaginable happened.  I suppose if I had given it a little more thought, I could have realized this outcome.  The paper towel ripped and left a tiny shred between my teeth, next to the pepper.  Not only could I feel the pepper, but now the paper towel was making its presence known as well.

I employed my tongue to no avail.  I tried to use the laws of physics and suction to release the offending paper towel (the pepper was no longer such a great concern), but this method did not end in fruition.  As Girl8 stood in front of me and washed her hands at the sink, my agitated glance fell upon her hair.  For a nanosecond I actually considered it.  I was able to save myself from certain embarrassment with the vision of myself walking through the Cottage Cafe, grinning wildly in every direction, with a piece of black pepper between my teeth, snuggled next to a piece of brown paper towel, and a rogue hair poking out from between them, like a hair on a mole.

It dawned on me that I did not have to smile with my teeth as I sailed out of Cle Elum's best breakfast spot.  I could paste on my satisfied Mona Lisa and escape to the car, with the fantasy of finding some dental floss in the glove compartment, or under the back seat.

I marched proudly out through the cafe with Girl8 in tow.  I attempted what I thought was a pleasant smile, but really I think my lips were pursed tightly together and my mouth may have been turned down at the corners while my eyes darted to and fro, looking at the various customers to see if they knew my secret.  They were all very polite about it, keeping straight faces and averting their eyes apologetically.  I know they felt my pain.

Empathetic Reader, I know you are commiserating with me and thinking of that long drive I had, with nobody but the unsympathetic Girl8 on her Nintendo DSi, struggling with that paper towel battened between my two front teeth.  You are imagining the many long miles of tongue contortions, lip smacks and torn fingernails, and you are wondering how I ever bore it.  Well, I am going to the dentist next week.