I don't like flossing

Both my mother and dentist insist that I should floss once a day. Of course, I nod and agree when they go on about flossing. Of course, I don’t even do it on a biannual basis.

A few years ago, in a hopeless situation, my mother remarked that I was very ‘third world’ in my flossing habits. The dentist agreed with her. I could only smile stupidly at them. I was not going to agree with them, but neither was I going to take up flossing like Vanessa Mae to the violin. At any rate, my dental health has always been in good shape.

So I still don’t floss regularly.

Recently, my teeth looked particularly dirty. Lodged in the interstices between my teeth were tiny fragments of what used to be food but now some soft, indeterminate lumps of beige goo. Just a wee bit, but enough to unsettle me and prompt a rethink of my approach to flossing.

Okay, its time do you-know-what.

From my many-years-old box of floss, I tugged at a generous length of the waxed fibre. Having a longer length makes manipulation much easier. Anyway, it’s not like that box of string is going to be used every day.

Flossing is like having your oral cavity gang raped and violated by two (or more) fingers and a length of string, simultaneously. Mucus from the saliva gets onto everything, making them all slick and messy while traces of blood get smeared on the white enamel.

After the raping flossing was done, I felt slightly better.