Oral Hygiene: Part II (But Who's Counting?)

Last week I was furiously cleaning the house (er, tiny apartment) in preparation of some friends coming to visit. Hooray, friends! I was through with the main living areas and, after poking my head into the bedroom, decided it could wait since, after all, it's not exactly where you entertain guests (unless we're that kind of couple who has those kinds of friends... which we're not). Just before our friends arrived, Clark decided to brush his teeth and floss, which as you know: I'm a really big fan of. I watched him walk into the bedroom with his floss pick, and then returned, fully dressed in "guest clothing" without a floss pick. Hmm... a mystery, indeed.

I had assumed that this floss pick had been left in a pocket, or thrown out covertly, however during the evening I went to the bedroom to grab a sweater when, what do I see?! The floss pick! Placed ever so lovingly on the nightstand. Well, that's not the trash, now is it?

Instead of nagging Clark to throw his trash away, I decided to leave it and see if he would throw it away before bed. What kind of wife would I be if I didn't give him the benefit of the doubt? The kind of wife that starts a blog with her wife-friend, that's who! No, but really, I wanted to believe that he has made changes and so... I returned to our guests sweatered, content and faithful that all would be right in the world of marriage.

Our friends departed around 11ish and I went straight for bed. But, having had a little too much to eat and drink I wasn't quite sure I could remain completely horizontal without suffering heartburn or other complications, so I propped myself up with a book and took a minute for myself. Clark climbed into bed not too long after and, quite honestly, I paid him no mind. He was flipping between pages when I noticed him struggling out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see him using a floss pick to fight with his pearly whites in an effort to dislodge a piece of dinner. My eyes darted to the nightstand where I assumed (read: hoped and prayed) I would see his floss pick from before. NO! It was not there.

"Clark?!?! Are you reusing the same floss pick from earlier?!"

Baffled he looked at me, like I was the crazy one. "Um... what?"


"That floss pick. Where did you find it?!"


"I left it in here... yeah, OK. It's the same one."


"You are RE-USING A FLOSS PICK???!!" At this moment bile started to rise in my throat and I really hoped it wouldn't come up, because I couldn't afford to dry clean this bed spread again.


"What's the big deal, I only used it once before."


"This is like reusing toilet paper! You are cleaning your teeth with the filth that you removed earlier. FILTH. Do you even KNOW what gingivitis is?! What would you think if I went pee right now then left the toilet paper on the counter to reuse next time?!"


I bounded out of bed for the bathroom and with the door shut I yelled "Ok, I'm peeing and I'm SAVING IT FOR LATER!!! You can even use it yourself if you want!" and Clark replied "Ok... ok I'll throw it out. Can you bring me a new floss pick when you come out?"

Just for the record: I did not save the toilet paper.

And Clark no longer reuses floss picks.