Thoughts On Flossing
I'm not a big fan of audible or olfactory evidence of bodily functions, but I'm passionately anti-detritus of any sort. My kids might get away with burping at the dinner table, but cutting their toenails anywhere but over the toilet is a punishable offense. I don't even like it when someone uses a nail file in my presence, all that mortal dust.
My sister was even worse than I am. I'll never forget her horrified expression when Kelly caught my friend J plucking her eyebrows in our dresser mirror.
"Why aren't you using a tissue?" Kelly asked J.
What for?" J responded, tweezing away.
"To prevent THIS," Kelly said, wiping the mirror where myriad tiny brows were stuck by the root.
I'm disgusted by fallen hair, dead skin, or anything that comes from the body and is found on the carpet, in the sink, on a Q-tip, or in a Kleenex.
So it stands to reason I hate flossing. All that flotsam--cheese and pineapple from lunch, pot roast from dinner-- flying everywhere, sticking to the string, getting on your fingers. I brush first, so flossing won't be as traumatizing, and then, after I floss, I have to brush again because I'm so grossed out. Lately, I've started showering again after I floss.
I often see people flossing in the car. So sick.