A Dirty Little Secret

I'm going to share a little secret about myself...the kind of dirty little secret we all have but would never admit to anyone.

I hate to brush my teeth.

In declaring my aversion to what many consider a sacrosanct daily ritual, I must clarify that despite my distaste for tooth brushing, I still do it, at least twice a day, as recommended by 5 out of 5 dentists. I just hate every single second of it.

Now, there are times when a thorough flossing and a deep brushing are particularly satisfying. And when done right, there's nothing I love better than getting a cleaning at the dentist's office (except for the fluoride wash because that is just a small step above torture, in my opinion). I once paid an obscene amount of money to have a delighted dental hygienist attack my entire mouth with a pointy little dental probe and scrape out all the build-up between my teeth, in and around my gums, and everywhere that probe could go. My mouth throbbed for days, but oh, it felt good and it felt clean.

But brushing my teeth with my boring little toothbrush with my boring minty toothpaste (or not minty, when I use David's because he's sensitive to mint) is boring and monotonous and often makes me question the meaning of life.

There are two types of teeth in my family: my mother's, who could have purchased a nice car with the amount of money contained within her mouth and my father's, whose teeth have never had the distinct pleasure of requiring a filling. Ever. My guilt over tooth brushing stems largely from the fact that, unlike the rest of genetically blessed siblings, I have my mother's mouth. I have simply stopped counting the number of cavities I have had filled or the amount of hours I have sat in a dentist's chair, my mouth propped open by some torture device and or listened to the sound of an electric drill whirling away inside my mouth.

My most frequent nightmares almost always include some variation of my teeth falling out, rotting away, or having my jaw/mouth wired shut, or having my mouth so full of bubblegum (which I admittedly love to chew) that I cannot breathe or talk and I cannot remove it from my mouth even when I try to pull it out.

Dream interpretations often suggest that losing your teeth is rooted in a fear of being embarrassed or made fun of in social situations (particularly over appearances) or to symbolize a sense of powerlessness. The mouth-full-of-gum either means that I have trouble communicating what I want to say or that I have sleep apnea and need to seek immediate medical attention.

And while these interpretations make quite a bit of sense for me personally (except for the sleep apnea thing), I still think it's my subconscious' way of guilting me into brushing my teeth with more vigor....or sometimes, just brushing them at all.

And now I shall go brush my teeth in anticipation for bedtime....and I may even floss.