Last night, well... it sucked.
Not all of it, just the very end, to be exact. As I was getting ready for bed, I was flossing a particularly difficult place to reach (the very back two teeth on the bottom right) when the floss hit a snag. Rather than pull it up, I took one side and pulled it through. Bad move.
The floss stripped itself, leaving stray strands in the crevice. Wedged in the crevice, to put it accurately. It wasn't horribly painful, but there was some excess pressure there. More than anything, it was really uncomfortable. Definitely not something I could sleep with. I knew I would have to get it out, I just wasn't sure how. And since it was early AM on a Sunday, I knew finding a dentist would be hard and likely expensive.
Besides, that sort of thing requires, you know, insurance.
So for the next hour or so, I worked at it with anything I could: more floss, tweezers, the toothpick from my Swiss army knife, a pushpin. I tried anything. Eventually, I got it down to the point where it wasn't pushing on my teeth so much, but floss just kept snapping in two when I tried to work it between those two teeth. And the edges of my lips were getting raw (as were my fingers from all the floss wrapped tightly around them). But persistence (and a fear of the dentist's bill) won out. After nearly giving up and going to bed, I decided to give it one last shot, and heard a satisfying "pop!" when I pushed the floss down.
I'm still not sure where the little chunk of stray strands went, but at this point, who cares? I flossed some more to be sure (carefully this time), rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, iced my lip, and went to bed, exhausted.
It's almost enough to make a guy give up on flossing altogether!
The whole thing reminds me of an event from my childhood: A little girl up the street had gotten her head stuck between two of the decorative metal bars of the fence on the porch, and, naturally, she was somewhat freaked out by this. They brought in everyone: the fire department, the emergency medics, the police, even a plumber, I think. There was talk of rendering them apart with a torch, the jaws of life, you name it.
Finally, cooler heads prevailed. One man, a fireman I think, said simply, "If you can get it in, you can get it out." And quite calmly put his hands on her head and eased her back out.
Not all of it, just the very end, to be exact. As I was getting ready for bed, I was flossing a particularly difficult place to reach (the very back two teeth on the bottom right) when the floss hit a snag. Rather than pull it up, I took one side and pulled it through. Bad move.
The floss stripped itself, leaving stray strands in the crevice. Wedged in the crevice, to put it accurately. It wasn't horribly painful, but there was some excess pressure there. More than anything, it was really uncomfortable. Definitely not something I could sleep with. I knew I would have to get it out, I just wasn't sure how. And since it was early AM on a Sunday, I knew finding a dentist would be hard and likely expensive.
Besides, that sort of thing requires, you know, insurance.
So for the next hour or so, I worked at it with anything I could: more floss, tweezers, the toothpick from my Swiss army knife, a pushpin. I tried anything. Eventually, I got it down to the point where it wasn't pushing on my teeth so much, but floss just kept snapping in two when I tried to work it between those two teeth. And the edges of my lips were getting raw (as were my fingers from all the floss wrapped tightly around them). But persistence (and a fear of the dentist's bill) won out. After nearly giving up and going to bed, I decided to give it one last shot, and heard a satisfying "pop!" when I pushed the floss down.
I'm still not sure where the little chunk of stray strands went, but at this point, who cares? I flossed some more to be sure (carefully this time), rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, iced my lip, and went to bed, exhausted.
It's almost enough to make a guy give up on flossing altogether!
The whole thing reminds me of an event from my childhood: A little girl up the street had gotten her head stuck between two of the decorative metal bars of the fence on the porch, and, naturally, she was somewhat freaked out by this. They brought in everyone: the fire department, the emergency medics, the police, even a plumber, I think. There was talk of rendering them apart with a torch, the jaws of life, you name it.
Finally, cooler heads prevailed. One man, a fireman I think, said simply, "If you can get it in, you can get it out." And quite calmly put his hands on her head and eased her back out.
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