“Hey, (sir, dude, M2, Michael, MichaelMackie, boyfriend, princess, mister) … you have something in your teeth, yo.”

I hear that at least twice a week from co-workers, waitstaff, friends, Romans and/or countrymen.  I’m not sure when my teeth became harbingers of lingering food particles, but it happens a lot.  A lot more than I care to admit.

The problem has become so bad that I’ll actually swish water around in my mouth after nearly every bite.  I look like a crazy person … one who is addicted to gargling.  I’ll turn to anyone, including total strangers, and ask them if I have anything between my teeth.  Nine out of ten times the answer is, “Yeah, you gotta little sumpthin’ right there” … and then they gesture to whichever two teeth are holding a fennel seed hostage.

The reason why I have to ask so frequently is because inevitably I will have something trapped near my gums for long periods of time without anyone telling me.   You’d think people would just spit it out, figuratively, not literally.  I love to point out people’s flaws and faults.  It’s one of my best qualities.

I once went on a job interview with a strand of blueberry skin hanging down from my incisors.  I thought the HR gal was staring at my devastating smile … but turns out it was really just the remnants of a granola bar.

I’ll brush.  I’ll floss.  I’ll pick at my teeth with multiple toothpicks, often while chewing gum.  If there’s anything I’ve become neurotic about, it’s smiling whilst the remnants of rhubarb pie dangle precariously in my gum line.  I asked my dentist why my teeth were so prone to collecting morsels — anything from appetizers to desserts is fair game.

“Doc, it’s not like I’m British,” I plead.  “I have nice teeth.  No gaps.  No gaping crevices.  And a great smile … one that is constantly interrupted by food that adheres itself to my pearly whites!  What did I do to deserve this?!”

My dentist took one look at me and said, “It’s because God hates you.  Oh, and you gotta little sumpthin’ right there … looks like spinach.”