Oral-B Memory Lane.

Feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm going to pull something out of the archives....

How Oral-B could better: A lesson in oral morals and needs.

I have an Oral-B toothbrush. It's one of those fancy Pulsar ones that does half the work for you, and I'm too cheap to buy a proper electric toothbrush.

The other day I was in the drugstore nearby and picking up some mail (it doubles as the local post office), when I walked through the toothbrush aisle. I marvel at the rows of toothbrushes, all able to perform the exact same function, but all marketing to people like myself....who are looking for some new and invigorating way to brush better. So I am admiring the colours and considering picking out a new one to replace my toothbrush because I am convinced I can find one to better fit my oral needs. And I spot it.

It is a toothbrush that, when you are brushing, plays music. And if you want the volume increased you have to brush harder. And my jaw drops. Because this satisfies both my inner need for dancing through every activity of the day, but also it seems as though I have been able to top the Pulsar.

B watches me grab it off the shelf and eyeballs me. He points out that they are designed for children. I scoff and hold the package that has a picture of Destiny's Child on it close to my chest. And as I'm walking to the cashier I start to worry. Will they smirk at me? Should I pick up another toothbrush and try to pass it off as a purchase for an unpresent child? B drags me to the cashier and, in a move that clearly indicates he is able to read my mind, gleefully asks the cashier if I am the only adult who has ever purchased one for herself. In that moment, I loathe his very existence.

So, naturally, my face turns bright red. And I stammer. And I say "Look. Don't judge me." And the cashier smirks. Just like I had assumed. And the grin widens on B's face. He is aware that he will pay for this transgression, but he is clearly enjoying every moment and relishing my shame. I glare at him, hand over my debit card, and look to hightail it out of the joint as fast as possible...already I am trying to determine the next nearest drugstore that I will begin to shop at instead.

We walk home while I ignore B. This is only phase one of his excommunication. The shun. He is still smirking, but has now begun to plead with me to do something other than glare. He has obviously forgotten that I am able to glare and shun for long periods of time. He can go fuck himself.

Once we actually get in the house, I rip open the package and pull out my brand new toothbrush and shove it in my mouth. The first thing I notice is that I have to crank open my jaw even more than normal in order to get my molars. It is not the most comfortable thing in the world. In fact, I begin to get slightly annoyed that most of the extra plastic was hidden within the package. I figure that 2pm is as good a time as any to brush my teeth, and layer on the toothpaste. And then I turn it on.

And like the song goes.....I'M A SURVIVOR, NOT GONNA GIVE UP.....

I learn quickly that the mixture of headjerks and toothbrush and toothpaste are not quite exactly healthy in that I am now swallowing most of my toothpaste, and what I'm not swallowing, I'm flinging across the house while attempting to show B how utterly bootylicious I am. And I am. Bootylicious.

B is unable to contain his laughter at the Sensodyne spackled walls, floor, and face (mine). I do not care. I am fucking bootylicious. I am a survivor. And I'm not gonna give up.

Well, not until the song ends. And then I go back to my trusty Oral-B. The singing toothbrush clearly fills a niche in my life, but I'm looking for a steady and hardworking toothbrush. A toothbrush that cares about me. That says to me every night "Hey, don't worry, I'll do most of the work because I, like, totally get that you are a lazy ass. And that is cool with me."

B gets to clean the walls. And I'm waiting for all those free toothbrushes to come in the mail, but they never do.

They never do.


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