I’m not much of a flosser.  I never have been.  I mean, it’s not that I don’t just adore the idea of stringing my fingers with floss, shoving it in my mouth and meticulously sawing out each piece of left over lettuce from lunch, because I totally do.  Totally.  But let’s be honest:  I can’t. 

Literally.

This so, by the way, falls into the category of stuff you do not want to know about me but I’m going to tell you anyway, so never say I didn’t warn you:  I’m a gagger.  I always have been.  In fact, just writing about gagging makes me gag.  I gag all day, every day.  And my already super sensitive reflex has gotten even more acute with the birth of my boys.  I mean, I had no idea the volume of  bodily fluids two toddlers could create. 

GAG.

So unless a shell from a piece of popcorn has lived in my gums for so long it’s actually applied for a working visa and thrown out a welcome mat, there is no way I’m going in after it with my fingers wrapped in wax.  No way.

The no flossing philosophy has worked quite well for me over the years that is, until the other day when I popped by the dentist office for my  bi-annual teeth cleaning.  The conversation went downhill pretty quickly after we exchanged greetings.

Me:  “I think I need to bleach my teeth since I have this little yellow spot between my two front teeth.”

Hygienist:  “Let me take a look.”

This is the part where I gag as she shoves her gloved fingers in my mouth.

Hygienist:  “Hmmm…  you don’t need bleach, that’s just tartar.”

Me:  “That’s tartar?”

Hygienist:  “Yup.  I’ll just scrape it out when I clean your teeth.”

Me:  “What?”

Now I’m gagging because I’m grossed out.  I told you I was super sensitive.

Hygienist:  “Yeah, it’s tartar build up.  I take it you don’t floss?  Flossing helps prevent tartar build up.”

One minute and several scrapes later, she holds up the hand mirror.

Hygienist:  “See?  The yellow spot between your teeth is gone.”

GAG.

As she was packing my dental goody bag with paste, brushes, and a reminder card for my next appointment, the hygienist asks if I want to try a new type of floss instead of the traditional stuff.  I say ‘sure’ but don’t give it another thought, until tonight when a piece of chicken holds my molar hostage.  I scour the contents of the goody bag for the floss and discover this instead:

Have you seen this floss on a sick thingy?  This little tool is AMAZING.  It’s so easy to use and didn’t make me gag once.  Not once.  Who knows, with the help of this do-hicky, maybe I’ll become a flosser after all. 

Now, if someone could only invent a handy, dandy tool to take care of all my boys’ bodily fluids.

GAG.