It Took an 8-Month Solo Road Trip to Convince Me to Floss

I avoid the dentist like I avoid group projects and hot yoga classes and all those other things that sound good in theory but are akin to torture. It’s the noises in my mouth, or my head, or whatever weird part of the human body connects the ears/nose/throat to the brain. It’s the repeated asking of how I’m doing when it’s very clear, Doctor, that the answer is not well.

So I don’t know why my mind went straight to floss. I didn’t even pack floss. At no point before I left on my trip, in the entirety of the year I was planning it, nor in the first few weeks (the hardest part of any long journey) did I think: you know the only thing you’re missing? Floss. Freaking floss.

Nope. And yet, there I stood, in a Target in Santa Maria, California, only needing a toothbrush holder (mine had disappeared, likely into a crevice in the car that I’d stumble upon months later) but instead grabbing those little floss picks I’d seen an ex-boyfriend use. You know, the kind that require you to stick your whole fist in your mouth to reach your molars.

I also picked up a cute top, but that’s neither here nor there. Damn you, Target.

Why? Why floss? Why floss now? There were lots of questions. Even more theories.