Now I floss all the time.

For those who are wondering where I got the blog name "Catalogue of Fictional Memoirs," I am now here to satiate your burning question. For years my parents have pleaded that I begin a catalogue of my stories, and for several years beyond that I have been recounting stories to them with my sardonic sense of humor. Everyone has great stories to tell over a life time, and each of us has our own way of telling them. As for the Fictional part...well, I'd like to save myself the heavy responsibility of offending someone. If a friend were to read something with their corresponding name (or initials) they might get angry. That's when I step in and reassure them, "It's ok. It's fiction!"

In reality, I would never want to hurt any feelings. These really are just some experiences as seen through my lens.

Before this explanation becomes too prolonged, I would like to share the first of my reflections. A random memory from a few years back.

Now I floss all the time

The cast:

Me – a bit out of place and feeling awkward

V.V. – comfortable among her peers

R.E. – in her home and feeling like the great hostess that she is

G. – floss toting friend. Possibly one of the nicest people anyone could meet.

J. – bright eyed, kind, what else can you say

M. and S. – mostly huddled in a corner talking amongst themselves

Unimportant side note: V.V. has known she is pregnant for about two weeks, but no one else knows. Besides me, that is. The pride I feel of being entrusted with this secret swells inside me and could erupt from my mouth at any moment. Instead of giving away this secret, I shoot meaningful looks at V.V. every time I hear the words “roller coaster,” “babies,” “sushi,” or the like. If only the fools knew to look…

I was at a party. I believe it was all girls. In fact, yes, it was all girls. The church-going type – very sweet, poised, and praising one another all the time, which would be a fault if they weren’t mostly just harmless and kind. Anyway, at this party they were serving spinach alfredo pizza. It was delicious! I ate a few slices, a-thank you very much! Then G., someone I sort of knew, pulled out little travel flossers and started flossing her teeth. I paid no attention...that's a little weird...whatever. Not taking the hint, she proceeded to ask me if I would like one. "No thanks!" Who flosses in public anyway? She insisted. Being the type to give into peer pressure, I accepted in order to make her happy. A few teeth in, and despite the faint taste of blood, I feigned a sincere smile and said, "These are great." That was the moment I realized the flosser was stuck. Time sort of stopped as I rapidly grew claustrophobic and felt the impulse to pull out the flosser; even if it meant losing a tooth in the process. The plastic handle protruded from my mouth like some horrific snaggletooth. I excused myself because, at the time, I didn't make a habit of flossing regularly. I didn't know how to extract this travel-companion floss from my teeth. In a blaze of thoughts I debated whether it would be better to lose a tooth in the children’s bathroom or the master bathroom. I chose the latter. I hurried through the doorway, past the pristinely sheeted bed, and looked in the mirror. The sight was worse than I anticipated. I had spinach in nearly every tooth crevice and those that were spared were bleeding profusely from the flosser. I looked like I needed to be institutionalized. After some swift maneuvering, the floss came out. My pride long gone, I went back and asked her for another flosser (because now I knew there was much more spinach to remove)...I continued to bleed, but that eventually subsided. I can still remember her grimacing face...she must have been disgusted. Oh well...just another day in the life. All of that to say, I floss semi-regularly now. I also learned that spinach pizza is best reserved for eating in the privacy of your own home.