piano = flossing

piano = flossing

We make all sorts of weird bargains. Recently I repeated the message of Bear's dentist, but with my own guilty twist:

me: Bear. Flossing helps to remove the food that is rotting between your teeth. Rotting. And rotting doesn't smell or taste very nice. If you'd like to continue with the kissing part of our marriage, I would again beg of you to floss.

bear: Hmm. Is my breath ever bad? (Ever bad he says. EVER bad? Methinks I better start stocking pins for balloon popping....)

me: ... And, there are studies linking flossing to a 60% decrease in the odds of developing certain kinds of cancer. So, I would again ask you to floss. There are 47 different kinds in your bathroom right now and you're welcome.

bear: Well. That teatree laced floss *is* intriguing ... I'll give it some thought.

me: (sensing an opening) Tell you what. You pick something that you'd like *me* to change and if you floss I will endeavor to change that thing about me.

bear: Oooo! ... I gotta think about it.

He realized that I wanted him to floss for reasons of personal good (I had 'edification' there, but I thought you'd make fun of me), not punishment. He decided that I should do something good for myself that I didn't necessarily want to do.

So now, with suitcases still unpacked, 2 inch white roots, 100 substantiations for mf reimbursements to create, plus a borderline tenement-gross house, I'm going to my piano lesson.

*plink, plink, plink, no wait!, plinkplinkplink, dammit!*