Broke Down Toothbrush

Motorized Dental Care goes varooooomI finally succumbed to the marketing pressure and got me one of them fancy motorized tooth brushin’ contraptions everyone thinks are so great or at least everyone thinks that everyone else thinks they’re so great so they buy them and end up stashing them under their bathroom vanities two days later.

I’ve seen the commercials with the models and their atomically white teeth, having been gently polished with the Super Sonico Brushinator just two minutes twice a day for two weeks.  Oh how they shine.  Oh how people flock to greet them.

“What happened Angie?  Did you meet a guy?  Have laser hair removal on your belly button?  WHAT?  You can tell me.  I’m your bestedly besttest friend in the whole entirety of the widely wide world.  Oh Ange!  You’re such a tease.  Dish the dirt girlfriend.  Why do you look so luminously radiantly shockingly beautiful?”

Then she says it’s the toothbrush, yadda yadda, and next thing I know the Ange inside my head is putting a cheap knock-off version of the Brushinator in my shopping cart at the money-sucking vortex that is Tarzhay.

I get it home.  I try it for maybe a week.  No one is flocking yet but I am experiencing some tooth sensitivity, which must be a sign that it’s removing the calcified crustiness hiding my luminous smile…or my enamel.  I choose to believe it’s the crustiness.  Crustiness may be ugly, but it allows you to drink hot cocoa and eat ice cream with very little discomfort.

So my shield of filth was wearing down, but so was my toothbrush.  By Friday night, it had very little steam at all and halfway through the top row of teeth it stopped completely, the gyrating, the swishing, the humming, the chiseling, they were no more.  The brush stood motionless in my terrified mouth and I froze, not knowing what to do next. 

How could I go on?  What was I supposed to do?  Should I rinse my mouth out, charge the brush, wait for two hours and start over?  No.  I had to get to bed.  Something had to be done. 

Old Bessy Stands ProudSo, I opened the drawer and pulled out Old Bessy, my standby.  I loaded her up with paste.  She’d never let me down before.  She’d never stopped running, battery or no.  With some swift wrist action, we worked as a perfectly synchronized team.  I lovingly rinsed her and put her back in the place of honor out on the counter. (I remember Oprah once saying something about toothbrushes and hair products not belonging out on the counter, like they should be hidden away in shame in some cute floral box.  Personally I like to see a toothbrush in someone’s bathroom.  It reassures me that they practice oral hygiene and does a lot to build trust and friendship.)

In disgust I rinsed out my pathetic excuse for a motorized dental cleansing device.  Dead in the water.  She’s sittin’ in the charger right now but I’m a little disillusioned.  I’m not sure if I should take her back. 

Dan wonders why I didn’t just use her lifeless body full of half-sudsed paste to finish the job.  I’m not sure.  It just seemed wrong somehow, like swirling your dead fish around in its tank to remember the good old times.  Just wrong.

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