One thing that I’m really not very good at, still, is brushing my teeth (sorry Mom and Dad). Since I’ve got no ‘daily routine’ I have to remember to actually go and do it during the day, and many days it slips through the cracks.
Teresa has threatened me with scheduling me a dentist appointment. Therefore I’m trying to be more diligent about it so I don’t get lectured. Really that’s the part of the dentist I hate… being told what a lousy caretaker of the teeth my parents spent so much money on. It’s a guilt thing.
To combat my ineptitude of brush-scheduling I keep a toothbrush down here in the basement bathroom. That way I can’t use the excuse ‘I’d have to go all the way upstairs to brush, so I’m not doing it.’ Although I’d probably try and be more inventive than that and say something along the lines of ‘next time I’m up there, I’ll brush my teeth!’ I know myself better than THAT little piece of self-deception.
I just went to the bathroom, saw the toothbrush and decided to brush my teeth. I turned on the sink, pre-moistened the bristles and placed a dab of toothpaste onto the brush, and clicked the button.
It didn’t turn on.
To my horror my first thought was, "Dang, I can’t brush my teeth now."