The Mill on the Floss

Something happened to me on Friday evening that was just so ridiculous that I had to include it here. I was on my way to ‘Sausage fest II’ at Battersea Art’s Centre, and had been for some food with the rest of our group. Upon leaving the restaurant, I noticed that there was a bit of food stuck in my teeth. Instead of ignoring it like someone normal, my internal neuroses kick in: ‘If I don’t shift this blockage, it’s going to be bugging me all night and I won’t be able to relax and enjoy the comedy’. Fortunately, I’ve been aware of my irrational tendencies for a while and carry some Dental Floss in my bag. Christ….it seemed a normal thing to do when I put it in there. Writing it down makes me seem a bit mental. Anyway, it’s there so I used it. It was dark so I slipped out the floss and began some covert floss action as we walked down the street. I tried to be quick so that nobody would catch me in the – slightly disgusting – act of street flossing. Too late! John turned and exclaimed, “Are you flossing? Man! Is that cos you’re going out with a dentist? How under the thumb are you?! You carry floss!” While he was laughing I tried to cover my tracks by yanking the floss from between my teeth. Unfortunately, the floss didn’t dislodge smoothly, instead disintegrating into its component strands and leaving several of these behind. So now I’m walking – highly embarrassed – down Clapham High Street with food AND now floss wedged between my teeth. John has begun talking to someone else but floss fibres are waving around my mouth. Internal voices are now being raised: ‘I can’t just ignore this. It’s like having several hairs in my mouth. This will definitely interfere with my enjoyment of the comedy. Shit!’. There’s nothing else for it, I need to get my floss out again and attempt to dislodge the original dinner detritus along with the now marooned floss. So this time, like a member of the peloton taking a breather, I craftily drop to the back of our group and whip out my floss. I’m pleased to say that this attempt is successful – my mouth is cleared and I can relax. Thank God for that.

If I were to ever write a sitcom, this passage of events would probably feature in there. Although in my sitcom the second floss attempt would backfire too and the protagonist would wind up with half a washing line jammed between his molars. I phoned CP to tell her about my traumatic experience (particularly the stuff that John said) and all I got in response was ‘Ha ha! I don’t even carry floss!’.

I’m not proud of these events. I’m just including it here out of honesty, and perhaps as a form of therapy. And if that did happen in a sitcom, I would be the first to say ‘Yeah right, that would never happen.’ Well it can, and it did.