I’ve heard about this line of electric toothbrushes for awhile. It’s almost always been positive reviews. Suspiciously positive reviews, as if part of the patented sonic brushing action injects prototype mind-control nanobots into your bloodstream via the gums.
That might seem farfetched, but I’ve heard that there are parasites that apparently cause the insects that host them to climb to the very tips of blades and grass and freeze immobile there so that herd animals will eat them, allowing the next grotesque stage in their life cycle to proceed in some sheep’s intestine. So I figure an artificial nano-parasite would be able to make people write glowing reviews.
Then, some weeks ago, I see a piece in The Onion about dental hygiene tips. One of the tips was something along the lines of, “Some of the newer electric toothbrushes are a good option if you’re such a lazy fuck that you can’t move a regular one up and down.”
“Self?” I queried. “Am I such a lazy fuck that I can’t bring myself to work a regular toothbrush anymore?”
My self jerked awake with a guilty start and stammered something non-commital. I tabled it for a few days.
Then I drifted into a store. Previously, I’d seen the Sonicares up top, in a locked case. So, if by chance you wanted to purchase a Sonicare Elite toothbrush, you’d need to hunt down a store employee and tell them, “Excuse me, sir. I desire to make my dental hygiene habits more elite. I pray you unlock that case for me.” But really, how elite can you be if you need to ask a clerk for that kind of assistance? Plus, if you’re so lazy that working an unpowered toothbrush weighs on you, are you really going to expend the energy to track down a clerk?
This double whammy obviously got through to store management; now, these products are no longer locked up. “Self,” I noted, “While expensive, as toothbrushes go, my cash flow is actually healthy enough to not be injured. Why, the other week I paid off two cards in full and dramatically slashed the other two, and now am finding my mailbox swamped with offers of more plastic (more fools they). What do you think?”
My self replied only with a slackjawed snore, which I took as an affirmative. Shortly thereafter, I was the owner of a Sonicare Elite 7something. In a few weeks, it promises, my dental health will be much better, my teeth will be even whiter, and I might–just might, mind you–gain some sort of superpower.
The initial injections into my bleeding gums were less painful than I’d feared. Two minutes later, my teeth felt really clean. I mean, really clean. I wasn’t expecting much–I mean, I’ve always brushed at least twice a day, laziness notwithstanding, so how much more clean could they be? As Nigel Tufnel might say, none. None more clean. But it turns out that Sonicare went to eleven!
Now my teeth always feel clean, and there is a healthy colony of flouridated Sonicare Elite Symbiotes who have set up camp in my brain. Bless you, Sonicare!
I’m still waiting for my superpower to manifest, but other than that, it’s been a remarkably positive experience.