I sat reclined in the vinyl-covered chair, trying not to squirm.  I felt like a second-grader going to the dentist for the first time.  Shifting my position again, I turned my eyes away from the glaring light to the X-ray on the wall.

After the usual small talk, I was delivered the last ultimatum I never wanted to hear:  You must floss.

On my way home, I tried to ignore the dentist’s words.  I tried not to think of my college roommate practicing her speech about the importance of flossing.  I tried not to think of the many times I had added floss to my bathroom counter with the good intentions to floss after every meal.  I tried not to think about the repeated warnings from the dental assistant over the last several years.

I tried to think of something happier–like the wonderful food that caused this unhappy decay of my jawbone.  I really like food.  Sadly.  And normally, if I don’t like the food, I just add Parmesan cheese.  It’s my secret to make sad food eatable.

So as I stand looking sadly at my floss, I only have on question:  could have I have some parmesan with this floss?

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