Flossie and Other Tales of Hygiene

People give me crap about my flossing habits. I appreciate the feedback, really. However, I find my method hard to change despite the ridicule I endure. I have been using little bits of Scott's floss because ever since I moved, I haven't been able to find mine. I enjoy flossing. It really makes me feel clean, in the same way washing my hands after mushing up a meatloaf mixture makes me feel clean.

In elementary school, we had two healthcare perks: head lice checks and fluoride day. They each happened once a month, but not on the same day.
I was neutral about head lice day, it had its pluses and minuses. I loved it because the school nurse would open up the bends of a paper clip and poke around in our hair with it. It was like grade school massage therapy.
I hated it because, well, I usually had lice.

Dental days were good because we got fluoride rinse. "Swish and spit!!" It had a nice flavor. I felt like it made my breath smell fresh. And, we got flossing lessons. Here is where my trouble started. A little container of floss held endless wonders, we could pull the waxy stuff out of it all day. Forget about multiplication tables. It would pile in curls around our feet and we were a tangled minty mess, more joyful than any playground had ever made us. But, we were kids, so they gave us boundaries.

The rule they taught us was this: hold the floss container at your chest, and pull out an arms length of floss. I respect boundaries. Maybe a little too much. I'm still using this rule!! No one has suggested any other procedure for proper flossing, until recently. Friends have witnessed my technique and their mouths fly open. I interpret this as a request for some floss, so I politely offer them a helping. Generally the response is something like, "Well I don't think there'd be any left anyway!"

I then share fond memories of dental day, and they point out that my arm has certainly grown a bit since the 4th grade. This is true, but I have developed a bit of a complex because I'm used to having so much floss. It gets wrapped around my fingers so many times, to where they're nearly purple at the ends. What this amounts to is that I don't like to use the same spot on a piece of floss more than once. I will, reluctantly, if I have to use someone else's stash of string. I don't want to appear greedy. But, with my own paid for floss, I use one section between two teeth, and move down to a spot that has not been used.

I'm probably not what comes to mind when one thinks "germ-o-phobe," which makes this next confession all the more ironic. But, if I could, I would be one of those nuts who only uses a toothbrush once and then discards it.