I’ve always had trouble flossing, in part because I can’t stand the taste of mint, and in part because I have trouble reaching the floss to the back of my mouth. Found flavorless floss, which solved the mint issue, but I couldn’t reach my molars. Tried using floss picks, but I couldn’t find any that weren’t mint. With a choice between two bad options, I ended up just not flossing frequently.
Then while shopping today I noticed some flossing picks made by, of all companies, Crayola. But they come in fruit flavors! Those awful artificial fruit flavors, of course, but I can stand having those tastes in my mouth. They have extra-long handles as well, and now I’m hopeful that I’ll be able, at long last, to regularly floss.
Sure the floss picks are made for kids, but I use toothpaste made for kids anyway (for similar mouth sensory issues). I’ve long since gotten over the embarrassment of buying bathroom stuff marketed for kids.
I was raised to floss on this... fuck I don't know what it's called. It looks like a toothbrush but instead of bristles it has a little plastic D-shaped thing pre-loaded with floss. Anyway, until I saw the actual spools of floss people are apparently "supposed" to use, I didn't understand why people didn't just floss.
There are ways to Do The Thing. I'm glad you found one of them on 956 days left.
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In honor of AO3 having some issues, here's more of that Newspaper!AU I'm not writing because the idea of Tanselle and Dunk attending a gala in matching tuxes appeals to the gremlin in me
(Also because I feel that modern AU Egg's taste in clothes should more closely mirror Dexter Sol Ansell's)
The Targaryen Solstice Gala was one of those social gatherings that had been going on since the city itself was founded: the great and good flocking to the Red Keep in order to mingle with the greatest and best. Ice sculptures, dancing, fireworks — the whole of the city was either desperate to attend or desperate for details about who'd gone. It had been written about since before newspapers existed and would probably be written about long after they were gone.
"That's about ten months from now, the way things are going," Tanselle muttered, fussing at her tie. "I look stupid."
"You look gorgeous," Dunk disagreed, kissing her right below her left ear — his favorite spot, he'd claimed, way back when they were still at uni and working two jobs each in between classes and the school paper (her) and rugby (him) and sex (both of them, though half the time they'd fool around and then fall asleep on top of each other). "Very gender. Egg taught me that one," he added proudly, giving her another peck.
"Thanks," Tanselle said, wondering if she should sit down with Dunk at some point and tell him that he'd been adopted for the second time in his life, this time by a tiny Year Five student who called him "ser," bullied him relentlessly, and whose backpack cost more than the building their flat was in. But it had been Egg's idea for them to go to this gala, and Dunk was already feeling a bit jittery about being the boy's new tutor-cum-bodyguard, even if he'd sniggered a good deal at the term "cum."
"Uber should be here in a few," Dunk said, fiddling with the buttons on his own tuxedo. He looked absolutely edible. When Egg had decided they should attend the gala "to scope out the suspects," as though the suspects were not his own family members, he'd listened to their stammered refusals that they didn't have anything appropriate to wear with the polite, expensive incomprehension that Tanselle was used to seeing on her boss's face every other time she talked to him. Then he'd taken them both to "my father's tailor, he won't mind," and Tanselle had spent the entirety of the fitting process mentally drafting and redrafting the conflict of interest report she would have to submit to Mr. Targaryen before he allowed her to actually write the fucking story.
The Uber had to drop them off more than a mile away from the front gates of the Keep, since the cars (mostly limousines, though a few pretentious twats were in horse-drawn carriages like it was the fucking Age of Heroes) had already jammed the kingsroad. Tanselle had worn the highest heels she owned on the theory that she wasn't going to blend in anyway. Dunk, who'd managed to unearth a pair of black trainers and who refused to understand why they weren't the best choice for a black-tie gala, ended up carrying her most of the way up the hill, her shoes dangling from one hand while she looked up the proper honorifics for Mr. Targaryen, Senior on her phone.
"They still call him Protector of the Realm," she hissed in his ear as they approached the gate.
"Well, he's technically the king. Sort of," he added as he carefully put her down. He hadn't even broken a sweat, and she made a note to find a spot somewhere in the Red Keep tonight for a cheeky shag. Maybe on a balcony or something.
They presented their invitations to the guards at the main door, then waited in another line that seemed to take ages. They managed to entertain themselves by pointing out artwork they recognized and where the Targaryens likely stole it from during their many, many, many conquests over the centuries.
At last they got to the head of the line and a young man in a red and black tunic asked their names. Tanselle, still trying to decide if the painting over the entryway was a genuine Rosby or not, didn't realize the significance until they were ushered through the doors into the ballroom — these bastards had a ballroom in their home — and the herald announced, "Lady Tanselle Titana and Ser Duncan Arlansen" in a voice that boomed out across the room.
"Well, fuck," Dunk muttered, as they made their way down the steps.
Tanselle was about to ask what he was swearing about when she saw for herself: her boss, his eyes narrowed and suit impeccable, was making his way through the crowd toward them.
"Miss Titana, Mr. Arlansen," he said as they met at the base of the stairs. Tanselle noticed with slightly hysterical amusement that she was now a good four inches taller than him. It did not make him any less terrifying. "This is a surprise."
"Don't usually people say 'this is a pleasant surprise'?" Dunk asked weakly. "Or 'this is a nice surprise'?"
"I'm sure they usually do," Mr. Targaryen said. "Was this Egg's idea?"
"No," Dunk said.
"Yes," Tanselle said.
"Well, yes," Dunk amended.
Just then Egg himself arrived, in a hot pink tuxedo with a rainbow bowtie and hair dyed to match. "I can explain, Uncle," he said.
"Yes," Mr. Targaryen said, "I'm sure you could. But I'd rather you didn't."
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guys so there was this powerpuff girls and courage the cowardly dog cartoon cartoon fridays tune in crossover bumper that involved fuzzy lumpkins flossing a lil so i turned that part into a gif so it looks likes he doing it infinitely:
