The Daily Floss

I was a pretty good student in high school and college.  Mostly A's, but when I got B's I wasn't upset about it (and let's face it, overachieving in gym class was not going to get this girl very far).

 I did once get an A++.  It was in college, so you can be really impressed with that.  I was taking an January term class called "The Use Of Computers in Health Care Professions," taught my an infamously humorous, passionate, gentle and intuitive professor Dr Walters, or "Doc" for short. I was working on an extra credit assignment and found myself taken with different formatting skills for creating a newsletter.  The end result was a four-page journaling endeavor titled "The Daily Floss," which was about, well, flossing.  It was inspired by a college roommate who would recoil in disgust when someone flossed their teeth outside the privacy of the bathroom.  I thought this odd, as did several other friends who, in response, started an informal flossing club where we all met in my room to, uh, floss.  I'm confident that it wasn't so much about dental hygiene as it was about watching my roommate run away in horror. Somehow I gathered enough articles relating to our toothy antics to crank out Volume 1 of The Daily Floss, and Doc Walters loved it.  A++. 

I remember getting graded at the dentist when I was little.  Along with the new toothbrush and miniature box of floss, you got a "report card."  There was a scoring section for gum health (bleeding) as well as overal teeth (plaque), and I admit to being a little irritated when I didn't reach a perfect score here.  I took excellent care of my teeth.  I flossed and I brushed.  My mother had a rule that we could only have a piece of candy if we brushed our teeth immediately afterwards.  My only cavity was in a baby tooth, so when that fell out, I had a perfect record.  A++.

My teeth are still something I'm proud of.  Michael often comments, "You really have nice teeth.  They're so white.  Nice teeth, really nice teeth."  I pride in a perfect record with still no cavities.  Dental appointments actually make me happy because the hygienist as well as dentist always remark at how beautiful my teeth are.  No issues, ever.  I can tell that my uncomplicated visit to their office means that they get a little ahead of schedule; or perhaps they're thinking, "finally, after a day of root canals and cavities, here's someone easy."  I dance inside the door when I get home and joke to Michael that they found 8 cavities, which we both laugh at.  Because I have great teeth.

I had great teeth.  Today, my perfect record spanning decades is ruined.  I have, gulp, two cavities.  I will say it again:   TWO CAVITIES.  Not the start of  cavities.  For-real cavities.  Holes in my teeth.  The dentist said you can't even see them except with the x-ray films, because they're on the sides.  A lack of flossing well enough, he said.  He told me that the fillings are white and so nobody will ever notice them; I could even lie and say I still hold a perfect record.  But I don't.  My record is ruined.  I am ruined.

"That's what the kids do to you," he joked, and even though I felt super-low, I faked humor and agreed.  "It's totally the kids," I said.  I thought about my unprecedented cravings for pure sugar during my pregnancy with Charlie.  Skittles and Starburst.  And no, I didn't always brush afterwards.  Probably like never did.  Comfort food when I was sick after the delivery.  I won't lie: there's still cheesecake and pie in our fridge right now.  Not to mention countless nights spent on the couch downstairs due to a colicky infant.  I bought a brush to keep in the downstairs bathroom, but floss...well, that's just too much to ask when you're that tired. 

"Or," the dentist continued, "you could blame it on your husband."  He added, "After so many years of marriage, that's what I've learned.  The wife is always right."

This wife walked in the door after my appointment today, and this time was serious when I told Michael that I had cavities.

"Really?" he asked. 

"Yes," I said with a bit of a sob.

"Wait, are you crying?!" Michael asked.  He should learn by now that the answer to that it always, yes, I am crying.

"That was the only thing left of me that was good!" I cried.  "My hair isn't as blond any more, and my hair and teeth were my favorite things about me, and now they're both not good any more, and there's nothing left!"

As melodramatic as I was, I did have a point about the hair.  I have always prided myself in my blond hair.  "Is it naturally that color?" People would ask.  Why, yes it is.  Not color-treated one bit.  I was the only woman in my family who kept her golden locks well into my 20's and 30's.  But at my last major hair-hack, it was suggested to me that my hair would just look so nice if I had some blond partial highlights done.  I was confused.  I was already blond, right?  Right?!!!

Michael, used to my over dramatic scenes, told me about how not big of a deal this cavity thing was.

"You still have really nice teeth," he said, hugging me, "and your hair is still kind of blond."

The dentist was right.  It is Michael's fault after all.

It seems as though I'm having a 1/3-life- crisis.  We all know Michael is not to blame, and neither are the children.  I need to take better care of myself, and reviving the daily floss is where it will need to start.  Maybe there's nothing left to grade as an A++.  But then again, at 33, perhaps I need to grade on a different curve.  Or give myself some extra credit.