The Gods of Oral Hygiene Must Be Crazy

I don’t know what my family did in a previous life to tick off the gods of oral hygiene, but it must have been something appalling, for we’ve been plagued with a curse ever since. What’s the curse? I’m glad you asked.

The best way to explain the curse is by sharing examples of it with you. One of the most recent incidents happened to me while at work.

You see, because I don’t want my toothbrush to literally become a tooth brush I bring one to work, along with toothpaste and dental floss, for use at the end of my lunch break.

Recently, while chatting on my cell phone with a friend during lunch, I realized time was fleeting and I’d better take care of my teeth before my break was over. Accordingly, I blindly reached into my lunch bag and grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste.

Paying more attention to the conversation with my friend than to what I was doing (which is one of the ways the curse works; it strikes when you’re not paying close attention to the brushing of your teeth), I absentmindedly squeezed toothpaste onto the bristles of my brush. I then moistened both brush and paste with tap water and began brushing my teeth . . . but not for very long.

As soon as that repugnant, most gosh awful taste entered my mouth I began profusely and loudly gagging, coughing, spitting, and sputtering, while performing what looked like some kind of ancient war dance.

Laughing, my friend kept asking me what the heck was happening. All I could blurt out was that I couldn’t believe what I’d just done.

You see, among the sundry items I carry in my lunch bag are two tubes, one being toothpaste the other, um, Preparation H. Since what hit my taste buds obviously was not toothpaste, well, I think you get the idea.

Now, it was bad enough that the tube of Preparation H was fairly used, if you get my drift. But as I felt a numbing sensation spread around my mouth a scary thought came to mind. What if the hemorrhoid cream did its job and my gums, lips, cheeks, and tongue all began to shrink? Gees, I could end up with a perpetual smile, like those women who’ve had a few too many face lifts. Luckily, the effects of the cream weren't perminant.

I’m also reminded of the time the curse struck my younger brother. Younger brother and his wife were living in Daytona Beach, Florida, with their two dogs, a Rottweiler and a small mutt. The mutt was an indoor dog, the Rottie outdoor--except during rainstorms, which during the rainy season in Florida is nearly every day.

I know you’re thinking, “So what do his brother’s dogs have to do with the toothbrush curse?” I’m glad you asked.

Sometimes when the dogs were indoors they’d have to do their business but wouldn’t go out into the rainstorm. Consequently, if the rainstorm lasted very long they’d dodo on the vinyl floor of the TV room. Naturally, my brother or his wife would clean the mess with the proper utensils. But just to be sure the entire residue of poo was cleaned up they’d scrub the area with a soap and a toothbrush, a toothbrush identical to younger brother’s, a poo-scrubbing toothbrush kept on the same toothbrush holder as younger brother’s toothbrush.

One morning younger brother went into the bathroom to brush breakfast out of his teeth. Standing over the bathroom sink, he turned the faucet on with his left hand and with his right hand blindly reached down and opened the cabinet door under the sink. He then grabbed his toothbrush from the multi toothbrush holder attached to the inside of the door.


It was only after he began brushing his teeth that he realized something wasn’t right. The brush didn’t quite feel the same against his gums and the toothpaste had an odd taste to it.

In a panic, younger brother re-opened the cabinet and there, hanging in the toothbrush holder, was his toothbrush. He spit, sputtered, gagged, screamed, and bounced around that tiny bathroom like a man…well, like a man who’d just brushed his teeth with dog feces.

He finally grabbed a bottle of mouthwash that proclaimed to kill 99.9% of all germs and gargled with it, hoping that whatever microbes he’d just inflicted into his mouth weren’t among that 10th of a percent the mouthwash didn’t kill.


And so goes the curse of the gods of oral hygiene upon my family. Luckily, it doesn’t appear the curse is passed down from generation to generation--though the other day youngest son did clean his teeth with the grout cleaning toothbrush. But that’s a whole other story.