mostly david ephgrave

I may have just reached the apex of personal dullness when I thought to myself whilst brushing my teeth, “I wonder why Listerine stings?” I’m not even going to bother to look it up, as if I did, I’d be admitting defeat. It’s not the sort of thing you need to know, unless you work in dental hygiene; if you don’t, it’s better to remain in ignorance as educating yourself suggests you even care about the mechanics: as far as I’m concerned, I’ll make do with “because it’s makes your teeth clean”. It’s worrying when you realise this is the sort of stuff that crosses your mind. There must have been a point when I’d ponder exciting, magical things, like “What makes the sun so bright?”. Now, I only want to know why my gums tingle when I rinse them with a partly alcohol-based liquid that’s the colour of WKD Blue. Still, at least it stops me drinking it.

I had a quick burst of excitement while brushing my teeth tonight, when I remembered I’d bought some new mouthwash. This is apparently what gets me going these days. I’ve set the bar very low. This is probably for the best; if you lower your expectations, you decrease the chance of disappointment. I may not win tomorrow’s record Lotto jackpot, but at least I can improve my dental hygiene. Take control of the small things and let the big things take care of themselves. It’s akin to the feeling when you slip into a bed with fresh sheets. It’s the taste of pure luxury. Well, Listerine isn’t; it’s the taste of 26.9% alcohol (not that I checked). If mouthwash lifts my mood, imagine my elation when I get a new toothbrush. I'll have to sit down for a bit.

This morning I was in my bathroom, rinsing out my mouth with mouthwash – both the best location for the job and the best product with which to do it - when my mobile rang. It was my agent, so I thought I’d better answer it. We had a quick chat about a casting. I then hung up and returned to the bathroom to find the bottle of mouthwash balancing precariously on the cistern of my toilet, with the cap replaced. I had a sudden flash of panic: did I spit out the mouthwash before I answered the phone? I honestly couldn’t remember. An alarming grey area lay between the two events. I could only hope that my natural instincts had kicked in when it counted. I turned the bottle over to read the label: 'WARNING: DO NOT SWALLOW'. Not the most comforting thing to read after a mouthwash blackout. I’m pretty sure you can’t die from drinking mouthwash. If you could, then most people’s daily dental hygiene routine would be akin to a ...