OUCH!

I have a confession to make. I don't always listen to good advice. I am like the obstinate child that must touch that hot surface after being warned about getting burned. I've always been like that. Once, when I was probably about 7 or 8, I was out lighting lanterns at construction sites in the San Fernando Valley with my daddy. He was a public health educator with the Los Angeles County Health Department but, like many other dads who had grown up during the depression, he had a moonlight job on Saturdays and Sundays, lighting these lanterns. This was before the era of battery run flashing lights that protected people from driving into ditches. I'm trying to think what year this must have been. Probably 1956 or 1957. Sometimes Daddy would take us, his three daughters, with him to give Mama a little rest. This was back in the olden days when the porta potties at construction sites were wooden and precarious and smelly. But we had no problem using them. I guess that is why I have no problem using them at marathons. It is like the good old days, only better. But I digress. The San Fernando Valley was being build up then, farms were being replaced by subdivisions of American dream ranch homes and commercial buildings and three little girls could find fun things to do at these construction sites while Daddy filled the glass and metal lanterns or the black round "bombs" (that is what we called them) with kerosene. They would burn through the night and next day and then Daddy would be back Sunday night for one more lighting before the construction work started again on Monday. The workers would light the lanterns before they went home each night during the week.

Anyway, one Saturday Daddy had a long stretch of lanterns to light. He drove a 1952 maroon Ford stationwagon and he left the tailgate down so he could jump out and fill the lanterns as he drove along the street. I convinced him that I could ride on the tailgate, with my legs hanging in space, and it would be safe. He was driving very slowly, I could see it. He told me, whatever I did, I mustn't jump off the tailgate, until he came to a full and complete stop. I agreed to this condition. But wouldn't you know. After the second or third stop, my sense of adventure overcame me. I thought of all the TV programs I had seen where people jumped out of cars that were going much faster than my daddy was driving and nothing happened. So, without so much as holler, I jumped. And oh, my goodness, it hurt! Nothing was broken and really, I just suffered abrasions, but was my daddy unhappy with me! And I kind of learned a lesson. If I was going to be naughty, I would have to be much more discrete! Sigh.

So why am I telling you this? Because even though they tell you to use soft bristled tooth brushes, I have continued to use my electric tooth brush. And this week my gums bled a little when I brushed my teeth. And my gums were just kind of sore. Mumbling and grumbling, I finally broke down and bought a soft bristled tooth brush. But still the gums were a bit sore. Then it occured to me. Even though I use Sensodyne toothpaste, it is the strong, fancy dancy formula that whiten, brightens and makes you a millionaire. Well, maybe not the last one. So maybe I need the old fashioned Sensodyne that just gets rid of the debris left in your mouth. And off I go, back to Longs/CVS to get a kinder, gentler toothpaste. And low and behold, today, my mouth feels a whole lot better and there is no blood. And I could have avoided all this if I had just listened. But not me, no sir. I must come from Missouri!