A Different Kind of String

My dad is a dentist, so growing up it was always about brushing, flossing, and treating sugar like the anti-Christ. I hated flossing, because let’s face it, who doesn’t? Hey, why don’t I jam some twine in between my teeth until my gums bleed? Great, and when I’m done maybe if there’s time, I can wash my face with porcupine quills. Over the years I’ve stopped flossing completely, except for the two weeks leading up to when I fly home for Christmas, so hopefully I won’t get as bad of a lecture from my dad. (The first day I’m home I have to go to my dad’s office to get my teeth cleaned. It’s annoying, and the worst way to start a vacation, but it makes dad happy. Plus, I put Kahlua in my coffee on vacation, so who really cares about anything else?)  The lecture always consists of the same annoying meaningless phrases that I’ve heard since I was seven, “You only have to floss the teeth you want to keep,” and “If you don’t floss, you’re going to have to go see a Periodontist,” whatever that is.

One of the many men lucky enough to be my “ex” (because they were ever with me, not because they should be thankful we’re no longer together, obvi) used to get the lecture from my dad all the time. I haven’t talked with him in forever, and he texted me the other day (I swear men have a radar of when you're really happy... that's when they come back). Anyways, he texted me to tell me that he had to have a FIVE HOUR surgery in his mouth, with stitches for a month, because his gums were receding so badly. The man is 35. That is not normal. 

Here's the best part. The part that's given me nightmares for three nights straight, and has me flossing twice a day like I'm auditioning for an Oral-B commercial: He didn't have enough skin in his mouth to graph, so they had to use cadaver skin to make new gums. CADAVER SKIN. DEAD PEOPLE SKIN! SKIN. FROM. A. DEAD. PERSON. Be right back, I have to go floss. 

Ok. Back. (Ouch.) I gave the normal text response back to someone saying they had dead people skin stitched into their mouth for the last month, which is, "??!!?? ARE YOU F*CKING SERIOUS?! WTF. OMG. BRB, I have to go throw up while flossing." I immediately called my dad, horrified that he had never properly warned me about what was going to be my inevitable fate. His response? "I told you, you'd have to go see a Periodontist. That's what they do. I've been telling people for years! You only have to floss the teeth you want to keep!" Dad. And Dentists everywhere! Wake up call. That doesn't mean shit to anyone. Now, you start talking about dead people skin stitched to my face? You have my full undivided attention. 

I bought a 10 pack of floss at the drug store, so I figure that should get me through the end of the week. I usually have to learn all the hard lessons myself, so I'm glad someone else learned this one for me. And thank God I broke up with him. Can you imagine dating cadaver mouth? I don't think so. For now people - go grab a string! Put that floss between your teeth and let it make sweet baby-makin' love to your gums. Your dentist will thank you.

GSD,

Nic