I floss you.

This morning, I went to the dentist for my six-month cleaning and to have my chipped tooth filed down. As usual, the dental hygienist was overly-chatty for my 8:00 am appointment, expecting me to answer her questions while she scraped around in my mouth with a metal hook.

Hygienist: “So, where do you live?”

Me: “Dwtr.”

Hygienist: “Oh! Downtown? Me too! How long have you lived there?”

Me: “Sth muf.”

Hygienist: “Six months, huh? I’ve lived there about three years, but I think I’m ready to move to the suburbs and buy a house. Do you live alone or with a boyfriend or husband?”

Me: “Aln.”

Hygienist: “I see. I live with my boyfriend. I keep telling him I want to get married, but he just won’t commit. I tell him over and over and over, but he keeps putting it off. Not sure why.”

Me: “Mmm.”

Hygienist: “Yeah, I love him, but he doesn’t have good dental hygiene. So ironic, right?!”

Me: “Mmm hmm.”

Hygienist: “We used to argue so much about it that finally, I just started flossing him.”

Me: “Hmm?!”

Hygienist: “Yes, I make him lay down, and I floss his teeth every night before bed.”

Me: “Hmm…”

Hygienist: “I brush his teeth for him, too. It’s just a thing we do!”

…righttttt.

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