The Floss Was Still in Its Wrapper
I had bought the floss. I had placed it beside the toothbrush. Apparently there was a third step.
Still sealed
My floss had moved apartments with me. Twice. Still sealed, which was more than I could say for the box of good wine glasses.
With a dental appointment finally booked, I tore it open and tried to make up for six years in one evening. Forty seconds later: a little pink on the floss. I froze.
"Brilliant," I told the mirror. "I've broken flossing." I was already reaching for my phone, ready to turn one speck of blood into an entire evening online.
Forty seconds in
The Canadian Dental Association gave me something more useful: a little bleeding can happen when you first start flossing, but bleeding almost every time you brush or floss needs a dentist's attention. I wrote down what I'd noticed for my appointment.[1]
Then I read the Ontario Dental Association's technique: ease the floss between teeth, curve it around each tooth, and move it gently up and down. I'd been yanking. I slowed down.[2]
I also added "show me how" to my questions. Slightly embarrassing? Sure. Less embarrassing than secretly guessing for another six years.
The wrapper went in the bin
The torn wrapper went in the bin. The dispenser stayed beside my toothbrush, where I could actually see it. I wasn't going to declare my gums fine just because nothing hurt; I'd ask about the bleeding.
Nell asked how the new routine was going. "The floss is open." "Strong start," she said. Then she asked whether I'd checked my coverage. I looked at the unopened envelope on the table. Oh, come on.
Mara