It’s very easy to say “I’m too busy, I don’t have time for this or that.”   Lots of stressors compete for your time.  There’s so much to squeeze into the average day.  Things like going to the gym, the grocery store, throwing in a load of laundry, and getting the oil changed in the car.  Stuff you need to do but if you think about it, don’t necessarily have to do.  I recently analyzed my schedule and decided that there’s one activity you always have time for and should never skip, no matter what, and must do every damned day.  At least twice, as a matter of fact.  That activity?  Brushing your teeth.

Did you ever wake up with breath so ferocious that you could take three layers of paint off an antique dresser?  I have.  It proves that something metabolic takes place in your mouth at night.  Fairies fart in there.  Molecules meet the end of their half-life in there.  Dreams die in there.  I don’t know what happens overnight, but it’s bad.

I once took a tour with a guide at Mammoth Cave.  I made the mistake of walking right behind the guide where, no lie, six feet behind him I could smell the vapor trail of his halitosis.  This shit was crippling.  Something had gone wrong in his mouth and it would take a team of scientists to fix the problem.

I remember starting to get woozy as we stepped into “Fat Man’s Misery” a tight space in the cavern, obviously named in the 1800’s when there was no such thing as political correctness.  (I mean, why hurt the feelings of obese spelunkers?)  I was directly behind the guy when he started to explain how that area of the cave got it’s name.  It was then that suddenly I was overcome by a smell that made me think of the Jolly Green Giant’s ass.  The guy’s breath was fogging back at me, in the tightest area of the cave where I had no option but to follow closely behind.  He went on and on while I was turning green, “Shut the fuck up man!”  I was yearning for his story to be over just so he’d close the gangrenous wound between his lips he called a mouth.

As I struggled for air in the already claustrophobic conditions, I realized, “Sure, he talks for a living. That’s enough to dry out one’s soft palate.”  And, he was probably under hydrated.  It could happen to the best of us.  But my legs literally buckled the first time I caught a whiff of the dead cat this guy had in his mouth.  I estimated, he hadn’t brushed for a week.

There’s always time to brush your fucking teeth.  Get in there good.  Brush the teeth waaaaaayyyyyy in back.  And get the roof of your mouth and your tongue while you’re at it.  Everyone will appreciate your efforts.