The Lamest Advice Ever

I am loath to admit that my dental hygienist was right. Years and years ago, she told me I should invest in an electric toothbrush. A Sonicare. Each visit I would pretend to entertain this notion (because she's very attractive). We'd chat about the merits of the device. She'd admonish me about my gum-line-- and then she'd set to work on my filthy plaque-covered teeth. I'd cringe and bleed and try not to cry (because, as I mentioned earlier, she's very attractive). She'd finish up, remind me again that an electric toothbrush might solve some of these issues, and we'd part ways.

Once I'd left the office-- slightly traumatized and a little sore-- I'd ponder her advice for a moment and then summarily dismiss it.

I'm a man! A strong man. I don't need assistance to brush my teeth. And once I started flossing regularly . . . watch out! Then my teeth and gums would be fine. And it didn't hurt THAT much.

A couple months ago my wife came home from Costco with a pair of Sonicare electric toothbrushes. They take some getting used to. If you open your mouth while brushing, there's going to be a big mess. It feels likes you've released a buzzing insect loose on your teeth. But I kept with it.

My last visit to the dentist, my normal (and very attractive) hygienist was out sick. It's too bad, because she could have gloated and said, "I told you so." The other hygienist-- who is very nice-- said my teeth looked great. All my gums grew back! There was barely any plaque! A couple scrapes and she was done. Easy-peasy. The dentist came in, took a quick look and said, "A+!"

I was like: what the fuck?

So the best advice is often the lamest: get enough sleep, drink in moderation, don't eat fried food, a yellow light doesn't mean step on it, lift heavy objects with your legs, women like flowers . . .

and get an electric toothbrush.