Of hopes and paste

I remember eating a cream pie but I’m almost certain that it did not have lemon in it. Still, something must have set off the bitter sting on my tongue. I crumbled up the paper napkin and drank the last swig of water in my cup as I got up from the table. Tossing the napkin ball into the trash, I went on to the bathroom in hopes that brushing my teeth would help the burn in my mouth. I’ve always preferred brushing with Crest though my roommate in college gave me long speeches as to the superiority of Colgate. And I never understood the appeal of any cinnamon flavored paste. You can’t feel clean and fresh if your mouth is brushed by fire, especially in my current scorched condition. Any matter, brushing my teeth did ease the sour tang but only exacerbated the over all heat. Well then, what more could I do? Resorting to science, I considered if drinking a base such as milk might take care of the nuisance. So I poured a small glass and attempted to swish a bit, forgetting too late just how dreadful milk tasted on a freshly brushed pallet. That lead to a spat in the sink and fresh dose of frustration. Storming back to the bathroom, I opened my mouth in as many directions as my jaw hinges would allow, seeing nothing. Oh but wait, right there. There on my tongue, towards the back a little. Geez, I needed more light. Turning the illuminate function to bright on a little compact mirror from the makeup drawer, I focused in on that speck of something that was the source of my torture. I wasn’t going to be able to get my finger to it without gagging. Taking the tweezers by the sink, I carefully gave the speck a tug and slowly extracted it. Giving a little cough, I blinked at the miniscule object at the end of the tweezers. I had to almost squint to make it out but came to see that the bitter situation was an unanswered prayer.

Advertisement