My dear Alex and I braved the dentist this week, after a break lasting the duration of Grace's life. While we drove, Alex bragged to me that he had begun flossing religiously--every day. I think he said something like, "My conscience is clean. I am calm as a summer's morning," in reference to this fortunate new habit and its predicted dental results.
So I took Grace to an adorable quilt shop called the Quilted Works (where they gave us chocolate with our purchase--great, now I had chocolate teeth on the way to the dentist) while Alex had his appointment first. Sure enough, he emerged smug and sassy with a clean dental bill of no cavities. My turn was next. Was the chocolate worth it? I would soon find out.
I endured the x-rays, gum pokings, whirring and polishing like a great trooper, only to find out that I, as always, have cavities. I generally blame this problem on my dear old dad, aka Farmer John. He has dreadful soft teeth, and I seem to have inherited them. However, this time the dentist, Alex's cousin, said that if I doubled Alex's price for his silence, he would not tell on me. The reason Dr. Heideman felt comfortable in his attempted extortion was that my cavities are preventable. Apparently, if I were as dentally righteous about flossing every day (rather than my two to three day routine) I would not have this problem.
So here it is: I vow to floss every day, and challenge all of my soft-toothed friends to do the same, that they may save face and avoid husbandly smugness.