Marrying my longtime girlfriend, Darla the dental hygienist, was the best decision I’ve ever made, despite her attempted micromanagement of my teeth. She does this less often than she used to, but she still does it. Take this morning, for instance. “Oh, Jenna—your mouth guard has turned into a real petri dish,” she told me; she’d convinced me to wear a mouth guard at night to prevent further damage from my occasional bruxism (or tooth-grinding, which I’d apparently started doing years before I’d met her, and which she’d diagnosed soon after we’d started dating). For her, my oral appliance must represent the plastic manifestation of her love.
I’m glad I married Sandra. Though, thing is. she’s a dental hygienist? And she won’t let me forget it? Like, this morning, we’re in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, when she tells me “Oh, Jenna—your mouth guard looks like a real petri dish.” I’d just removed it, the mouth guard? And it looked clean to me. I wear it at night at her suggestion, to protect my enamel. I grind my teeth, which I’d apparently started doing years before I’d met her? And which she’d diagnosed soon after we’d started dating? I guess to her, the mouth guard symbolizes our love, excuse the fancy talk.
Copyright © 2021 by David Matthews