Look Mom! No Cavities!

I've had a horse since I was 10. I was always running to the barn after school to muck stalls and throw hay and groom my fat pony. Some days I wouldn't have time to change clothes so I'd just head out in whatever I was wearing for school. One day I ended up at the barn in my super fabulous Mudd clogs and got them pretty filthy and covered in horse poo and other interesting filth. When I got home I decided to thoroughly clean my fancy footwear so I could wear them the next day with my flare jeans and riveted belt. I figured an old toothbrush would work really well in the crevices of my shoes and I knew there'd been a random toothbrush in our bathroom for months so I used it with great success. My clogs were shining in all their pleather glory. It worked so well I thought I'd save the toothbrush for future cleanings and put it right back. Things were going well, Justin and Britney were a power couple, I was mastering the zigzag hair part, and then my little brother walked out of the bathroom BRUSHING HIS TEETH WITH MY HORSE POOP TOOTHBRUSH. I immediately started shrieking incoherently and he stood there drooling toothpaste until I finally gibbered out that he was brushing his teeth with shoe feces at which point he began retching uncontrollably and possibly cried but it might have just been his eyes watering from his violent gagging. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and apologizing and our parents laughed until they almost wet their pants. I blame myself for Adam being a germophobe today. I might as well have crammed that poo in his mouth with my own hands.

Tongue Tied

When I was about 4, we spent Christmas with my great grandparents in Wenatchee. I was a very bossy, independent little girl and I was convinced I could handle pretty much everything all by myself. While the grown-ups were talking about boring things I decided to get ready for bed. Mom had one of those fantastic 80's cosmetic roll-up things that hang on the back of a door and I could see the little tube of travel toothpaste in it. I climbed on a stool and retrieved the toothpaste and brushed my teeth all on my own. The toothpaste tasted terrible but then so did a lot of the food I'd been introduced to on that trip, such as prunes. I carried on with my preparations (i.e. Garfield nightgown and laying out my plastic jewelry for the next day) as my mouth slowly grew more and more numb. It finally got to the point where I had an impressive streamer of drool leaking from my mouth and I figured I should get help before I couldn't move my lips at all. I appeared in the living room and began attempting to relate my unfortunate circumstances to a fairly puzzled group of adults. Mom finally asked if something was wrong with my mouth, to which I replied, "VUH HOOPAY MAY MY MOUF FEE WEER." Mom somehow deciphered that and asked me what the hell kind of toothpaste I had used to turn me into a slobbering loon. I shambled to the bathroom and retrieved the tube; when Mom saw it she dissolved in laughter and almost wet herself in the hallway. Because I'd brushed my teeth with Vagisil. And I don't recommend it. Sure made for a fun visit with Grandma and Grandpa though, and the Poison Control people were awfully nice too.