Listerine is the love child of the Devil and an inebriated Tooth Fairy with a .98 blood-alcohol level. There can be no other explanation for what happens in my mouth when I use it.
I just finished brushing my teeth and swishing with that fiery substance. My gums are stinging and my saliva glands have created a foamy substance I keep having to go to the bathroom to spit out.
My plan for the evening was to pull out my computer and write about the young men in line behind me at Target who couldn’t respect my bubble of personal space.
They were definitely old enough to know better.
There I was, standing in checkout #6 with my boxes of infant gas drops and A&D Ointment when a middling-teenager sidled up behind me and plopped his purchases on the conveyor belt.
Except he did it far too close to me. And I couldn’t move forward to politely allow him more room because I had another woman and her belongings in front of me and I didn’t want to infringe on her personal bubble of space. It was a conundrum.
Target conveyor belts, like some bicycles, are build for two. Good to know, huh? I’m all about practical wisdom.
The youth did not understand he took his life into his hands. More Monster drinks and Drumstick ice cream cones were placed onto the conveyor belt while he bumped into my purse three times, hard enough to make me wonder if I was going to drop the purse and spill the contents all over the Target floor?
What Mr. Youngling didn’t understand is not only do I have a large and defensive personal bubble, I was on a date. It’s been quite a bit of time since I experienced a date, or an evening that doesn’t include small hands wrapping around my leg as the girls, also known as the holy terrors, tell me they’re scared and must be comforted this instant.
This may be why my date night activity included a stop at Target to by infant gas drops and A&D Ointment – I’m out of practice at the date night. But it was no less valuable to me! That kid shouldn’t mess with a woman on a date who is enjoying the quiet space away from being touched all day. He didn’t need to bump me. Rude, just rude.
All of these personal space complaints disappeared when I brushed my teeth before settling in to write the blog. Even though I’ve now been writing for 25 minutes my mouth is still on fire!
It’s the purple Listerine! It’s the mouthwash that just keeps giving.
Last night Lizard gloated at me. He bragged that he was the stronger of the two of us simply because he can swig for the full, recommended 30 seconds.
My pain tolerance levels at this point have given me a record swishing time of 15 seconds. At that point I spit the mouthwash out, not caring where it lands as long as it’s out of my mouth, gasp, and wipe real tears out of the corners of my eyes.
I am a Listerine sissy. There is no justice in the world. I’m hoping my reward for even touching the Listerine is a postponement of a dental appointment for yours truly.
But in the meantime I have to listen to my husband tell me his mouth cavity is superior. Kind of makes me want to kick him in the ankles.
And that’s all I have to say about that. In fact, in saying it I fell asleep three times and accidentally bit my tongue when my head nodded off. So I’m off to rinse my wound with purple Listerine, and head to bed.
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