There Was Some Fixodent in my Stocking Too

Because my mother is under the delusion that she didn't merely give birth to me but, you know, CREATED me in her EXACT LIKENESS, she has no understanding of the fact that I am, indeed, not her clone but an actual living, breathing, person under the age of thirty.

And because she cannot grasp this aspect of reality, my Christmas gift last year was a subscription to Prevention magazine. A healthy lifestyle magazine. With workouts, beauty advice and diet tips. Geared to the over 40, post-menopausal, Botox needing, calcium deficient lady set.

(To be fair, she also got me a matronly red dress and a fluffy purple hat. So. At least there was a theme.)

So, it comes once a month (like other hotly anticipated events in these here parts) and I read it. On the bus. In about seven minutes. It (like other things in these here parts) is minimally invasive.

So this month, I learned that bacteria lives on the back of your tongue. And it breeds stinky breath. So, to combat halitosis, the number one recommendation from Prevention is to use a tongue scraper. It tells you to go back as far as you can without gagging yourself which, AHEM PREVENTION, stop it with the blow job references.

In what is again, another extreme overshare, I do indeed own a tongue scraper. Until I read this article, I had never used it. But now, thanks to this three sentence article, I'm fucking paranoid about halitosis, so I fucking use it every night. Along with brushing and flossing and gargling with Listerine. Because, thanks, Prevention, I really needed one MORE step to add to my already incredibly time consuming and Lost re-run watching interrupting pre-bedtime oral hygiene regimen.

But, really, your mouth does feel fresh after a good tongue scraping. So, you know, public service announcement. Thing.