Please Stop Breathing... On Me.

If there is anything I care about in this world, it is good oral hygiene. I am a tooth-brushing fanatic who loves to floss and swish mouthwash. If my teeth get ever so yellow I experience a melt down, drive to CVS, and proceed to whiten my teeth for the next 14 days until they are unnaturally white and possibly fluorescent. For some, these kinds of obsessions result from a traumatic tooth experience as a child, but for me, it's just a neuroses that I cannot shake. I think I have always been like this - at least I cannot remember NOT being like this. My dentist even goes so far as to tell me to brush my teeth less. Yes, it is that bad. I suppose it could be worse...

Unfortunately, my darling husband falls somewhere on the "average" spectrum of oral hygiene. He brushes and flosses daily, but not to the extent that I do. He would rather savor the taste of dinner for a bit, whereas as soon as the dishes are cleared, I'm in the bathroom destroying my enamel with Listerine just to get a minty fresh taste in my mouth. I'm not saying that he is the crazy/wrong one here, in fact I'm quite aware that I'm the one with the issue. But still... he had full disclosure when we got married, so he has no right to be upset.

Because I am slightly shorter than Clark my head usually winds up precariously close to his mouth particularly if we are watching TV and I am leaning on him, or if we are sleeping and he insists on cuddling (which, by the way, makes it impossible for me to sleep!). Earlier this week we were watching a movie and I was totally relaxed, leaning on Clark when he, out of the blue, started breathing directly onto my nose and all I could smell was dinner, except not just dinner: "breath dinner." WTF?! Why would anyone do this. I shot up and covered his mouth with my hand, much to his shock and confusion. While his mouth was still covered I gave him a death stare and asked "who do you think you are, breathing on me?! STOP BREATHING!!!!!" His eyes widened and then he cracked up. Did he think this was a joke?! Did he think this was a laughing, "mock Nancy," matter?? Whoever the hell he thinks he is needed to head into the bathroom and, at a minimum, swish his mouth with some powerful, alcohol-containing, peppermint, freshness.

He didn't, so I went to bed, facing the other way. This story doesn't really end here, but it's all I can handle writing without gagging, vomiting or otherwise getting ill. Stay tuned for "Oral Hygiene: Part II"