Blueberries. Black tea. Balsamic vinegar. I love them all. And recently, they landed me on the bathroom floor in a pool of toothpaste.
I enjoy blueberries, black tea and balsamic vinegar every. single. day. With abandon. Some might even say excess. A fact that is not lost on my dental hygienist.
“Hmmm, are you using a manual or electric toothbrush?” she asked when I saw her recently. “Manual!” I said proudly since I’m all about my badass brushing skills with my low-tech equipment.
“Well,” she said, pulling my gums back and peering around. “You might want to consider an electric. It would help with the staining.”
Oof. As much as I love all my “B” foodstuffs, I do not like the dingy teeth that go along with them. Upon reporting this exchange with my beloved, he said, “MY hygienist said the same thing!” And with that, he was on it: researching and then buying fancy schmancy electric toothbrushes complete with special whitening brush heads.
We could hardly wait to use them.
Frank was the first to load on the toothpaste and hit the power button. I was all excited and bouncing around, full of questions: How is it? Is it as loud in your head as it is out here? Does it feel great like everybody says? He made a bunch of odd sounds instead of answering so I plopped on the paste, popped the brush in my mouth and powered up.
A maniac beehive explodes in my mouth.
My whole face vibrates. The brush both hurts and tickles as it whirs around at the speed of sound. My mouth feels hyper sensitive whilst being hyper stimulated. A shift of my hand and the whole arrangement rattles my teeth like a miniature, demented, spinning jackhammer. It is bananas. And hilarious.
I start laughing.
To be clear, I am not giggling delicately or chuckling with amusement. I am laughing with my whole body, with every cell of my being. I am roaring. And when one is laughing in this way, it turns out, it is impossible to keep your lips together.
Now toothpaste is flying. Everywhere. Onto the mirror, the counter, the bathmat, my jeans. A crime scene of Colgate. Which made me laugh even harder, while the oblivious toothbrush keeps doing its maniacal bee thing in my mouth. Which leads, as these things do, to full-on drooling.
Next to me, through the spray of spit and toothpaste, Frank is also laughing. Then his mouth is open and his toothpaste is flinging itself onto the wall, the floor, down his t-shirt.
After two minutes, the ludicrous things turn themselves off. We flop gasping onto the floor into puddles of drool and toothpaste. Which is where a deep love of blueberries will get you.
And what can we learn from this experience? Plenty, I’ll tell you what, but these 3 things in particular.
1. Start where you are.
I am notorious for wanting to start out an expert, to want to skip over the whole annoying and embarrassing learning part and get to the proficient execution part. If I’m going to polish my teeth, then I want to polish them all out. Which, well, you see where that got me. Turns out, there is a beginner setting on our fancy schmancy toothbrushes. It starts out gently and over two weeks gradually ramps up to full speed. Most things you do in life have a beginner option: the bunny slope on the mountain, the tutorial for the card game, the easy gear on the bike. Start where you are. Be a beginner when you are a beginner. Use the beginner setting.
2. Tell no broccoli lies.
Remember when you were 5 and you ate some broccoli after letting it get cold on your plate? You took one bite and you hated it. Because BLECH: cold plain broccoli when you are 5. A broccoli lie is when you tell yourself (and anyone who will listen) that you hate broccoli. Period. Based on that one experience. After brush-mageddon, I spent 23 and three-quarters hours cutting my eyes warily at the toothbrushes-cum-assault-weapons. While Frank went back in with success (at the beginner setting, see above), I returned to my familiar manual. But then I remembered that broccoli is really good when warm, roasted, and with some tahini sauce. At the beginner setting, the toothbrush was fine – good, even. Tell no broccoli lies. Stick with things long enough to see if you really hate (or love) them.
3. Share your full experience.
Dozens and dozens of people I know use electric toothbrushes. Many of my friends talk about how much they love them (which I’m now beginning to understand). And while I’m guessing not everybody had the same introductory experience we had, no one ever said, “Oooh, I love my electric toothbrush...and it took some getting used to.” Or “I will never go back to a manual brush but at the beginning, it was intense!” Or “I love it now, but the first time it felt like a beehive exploded in my mouth.” Share where you are now, sure, of course. And also share what it was like to get there. Help the people who come after you by sharing your full experience.
Blueberries and black tea and balsamic vinegar are all worth the super sonic fancy schmancy whitening toothbrush. And honestly, any chance to laugh so hard that you end up on the floor in a puddle of toothpaste and learn a couple of things is something worth doing.