Toothpaste

There's a lot to talk about, but the most important thing right now is that it's late and I am about to brush my teeth without gagging for the first time in five days.

Ten days ago, I left for New York and had a blast. More on this later. Five days ago, I came back and discovered that the only toothpaste left in the house was cinnamon Crest. While I have nothing against cinnamon, Crest, or toothpaste, when they were combined together they formed an unbeatable opponent.

But I had no choice; I'd exhausted my supply of Tom's of Maine in the Big Apple and had yet to purchase a replacement.

Truly, I suffered.

It's not that this toothpaste is bad, it's that it's like having someone shove dirty fingers in your mouth. Whole fist-fulls, until you can't take anymore. It's like rinsing our mouth out with cheap whiskey, and you have a delicate stomach. It burns, but not enough to overwhelm the nausea inducing flavor that tickles your glottal, and dares your gag reflex to fight back.

But today I made it to the store. Tonight, Toms of Maine will once again cleanse me, and I can put away these foul memories forever.