Oral Hygiene…and My Mom

As promised, a quick discussion on oral hygiene.

Brush twice a day, (minimal flare if you’re that type) three times is ideal; floss once daily. Do you know your heart can get sick from the bacteria in between your teeth?

Nice teeth are in my top 10. Not perfect teeth…but not sideways, missing, come out at night or otherwise. The otherwise I’m mentioning here is what is known to be one, black teeth. I’ve seen it, much too close for comfort. That is necrosis people. Dead, rotting teeth. There is no room for expired up in the oral cavity. Consider this: the next time a guy smiles close-mouthed in all of his online photos, it may not be coy shyness, but oral necrosis lingering in that grill. Also, could be that he’s an old school Brit and has no issue with brown outlines in between all of his teeth.

I’ve come to work with some real memorable dating stories about bad teeth, photos, etc. So good in fact, the doctors I work with think it’s amusing to recall these nightmares weeks after I initially dropped the dating bomb. One such bomb was a photo taken from the ground-up, of this guy’s beard; exhibiting knotted discolored hair and large patches of baldness. It looked like a small rodent may have gnawed at his neck. Why would this poor fellow highlight this situation? Why not shave all that goodness clear off?  While working in procedures a month after this pic graced my phone, my coworker says “Hey Andrea, did you ever go on a date with that guy with scabies in his beard?” How did he know that I’ve always had a thing for diseased facial hair? Mmm. Busted.

My judgemental stance on dental work (or lack there of) and afflicted facial hair could be the reason I now need braces. Looks like karma is slapping me right square in the “gipper,” as my mother would say.

I’ll digress here to introduce my mother for a minute. You’ll learn that she has invented and resurrected words and nonsense phrases all of my life. It’s part of her charm. I’ve come to call them ‘Pamisms.’ An example: “Andrea, you need to settle down. You’re jumpin’ around here like a fart in a mitten.” Or “I like that real good.”

The P-Child also tells amazing stories. I don’t know how to explain how excited she gets about her stories. They’re not real interactive – they end up being a one-sided conversation littered with loud voice inflection, grandiose hand gestures and perfuse laughing at herself. I’m going to share one here that I jotted down in my phone some time ago, to give you a lil sample. Once upon a time, I asked my mom about her experience with Chinese jump-roping and this is what happened…

“Chinese jumprope! I tried to tell you weenies about it! You did it with your feet, put it around your ankles. You come in and jump it across itself. You tangle it around your feet and jump in and out. I can’t believe you idiots didn’t do it. I think you should put this online: who knows about Chinese jumprope!? You’ll get 1000 hits! Ask that fucking Siri! I made a Chinese jump rope one time when you were little! Where is it?! Did anybody care?! I sat with the kids and made a giant one on the patio! And no one paid a lick of attention and it’s still missing to this day! See about it! Go ahead! It’s very particular! Over over over, one foot in, then over again! People don’t even know the benefits of Chinese jumprope!” ~ Thee P-Child

Now if you look up a Chinese jump rope, it is seriously a long rope with a slip knot to tie it together, that’s it. But look at the magic my mom made out of that shit.

I was doomed to be ridiculous with her as my mother. In a real good way.

Ok back to getting gipper-slapped… So it’s only fitting that the gal who’s complained about countless gentlemen’s poor dentition would be evaluated to need to a mouth guard, adult braces and head gear for 18mo+. I sailed smoothly through the 6th grade while everyone else had metal mouths. But now at 33, I’m getting put in my place.

Speaking of humbled, I feel very blessed that my parents invested in my teeth – this happened much before I was old enough to care for them on my own. I know many are not so lucky and I really am sorry for that. Obviously, teeth do not make a person. But I had to highlight this area of my life because I’m getting back what I was throwing out there. Frankly, I deserve awkward A-Dult shit stuck to my teeth. P-Child would say: “serves you right, honey.” In a way, I’m actually looking forward to getting these babies installed. It’s like an act of penance. I’ll be serving for 18 months.

I’m sure the guys will be knocking down my door to get close to the retainer and teeth knobs I’ll be sporting for the next two years.

At least I figure, the guys with oral necrosis might be into it.

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