Have I ever mentioned that I am an avid flosser? There are so many aspects to this vocation of mine that it's hard to know where to begin.
In the beginning, I was not so avid a flosser. I don't rightly remember when my flossing became avid. As a child, I pretended to have flossed, but really I hadn't. No one seemed to notice, except for the dentist. Every six months, he would give me a stern look over his glasses and remind me how important it is to floss. Every day.
Still, I didn't floss. Certainly not every day. My parents used an unwaxed old-school* brand of floss. It came in a small round container and reminded me of a spool of thread. In my child's mind, flossing was something for adults.
My parents' influence upon my choice of flosses was strong when I first started buying floss for myself. Whenever I could, I would try to find whatever old-school brand they used. I insisted, however, on unwaxed. I don't really know why it mattered. I may have bought the floss, but I still didn't use it. Certainly not every day.
Fast forward to the potpourri of flosses under my bathroom sink. Primarily all my flosses these days are waxed. Mint flavoured; cinnamon flavoured, plain; thick kinds and thinner kinds and the thinnest kinds. White and green and red and even purple floss! These days I floss with abandon. In front of the TV, at my desk, in the bathroom, walking from room to room. I turned The Man onto flossing. Sometimes we sit on the sofa and floss together.
According to dentists, my vocation shouldn't be so unique. If my experience counts for anything and if my friends are at all indicative, regular flossing is not a habit most adults embrace. Flossing is typically done only when something gets good-and-stuck in one's teeth.
Occasionally I will skip a day. Then my teeth begin to feel gritty and tight in my mouth as if each one were a screw, and some invisible hand were screwing them all in tight at the same time. I'm not a big fan of that feeling, so I floss.
Due to my recent injury, I have not flossed for a full week. I have woken up with flossing on my mind. I try to mentally envision how to hold the string. I cannot. Flossing is so natural a thing that the floss entwines itself around my fingers without assistance from conscious thought. Without picking up a piece and watching it journey around my fingers, I cannot know for sure where it will fall and where it will press and if I'm yet able to handle the string.
The discomfort of floss taut against my recently burned digits is just imagined; a fear. The clamping and screwing down of my unflossed teeth is a reality. I'm gonna give it a go.
*So old school that I couldn't find a reference to it on the Internet.