My feelings towards flossing are perfectly synonymous with my feelings towards war. It's tragic, but necessary. I have a difficult enough time mustering up the ambition to drag my near unconscious body into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed, so the thought of having to wrap string around my index fingers and perform this additional bizarre task is a daunting one. I understand the satisfaction of a kernel of corn being propelled from your incisors against the mirror like a speeding bullet. It's the best. I just wish it was easier, and less miserable.
