I’ve just put pooh in my mouth. Pooh, mixed with the puss from the rotting flesh of a thousand zombies. Pooh that won’t go away but remains there with its foul stench leaking out through my lips and up my nose.
I have never tasted anything so, well, so strong and so pungent, and I not only put it in my mouth, but I wiped it all over my teeth.
Ok, it all started when somebody recommended to the significant other in my household that a product be purchased that we’d never purchased before. It was duly purchased and it sat there lurking and waiting in the bathroom. Waiting to do its evil deed.
Innocently I realised that there was none of the usual toothpaste left, so I reached for this tube that I’d never seen before. I twisted off the cap and removed the silver-foil from the nozzle, and then squeezed the first ever sample of the contents onto my toothbrush.
Immediately, an internal alarm bell started. Toothpaste is usually white, or maybe a blue gel, sometimes red or pink, or stripes. Toothpaste is never brown. This was brown. An evil looking brown.
I stopped. My “There must be something wrong” circuit had engaged and I was suspicious. I carefully examined the tube. Maybe it was off or something. Toothpaste is never brown. I screwed the cap on tightly and pressed and poked around it to ensure there were no tell-tale signs of tampering, the injection of a poison, or maybe air getting in and it, well, turning brown.
Stupidly, I satisfied myself that all was how it was supposed to be, and so sniffed it and applied it to my teeth. It took approximately 10 seconds for my taste buds to react. And react they did. Suddenly, with an acute alarm going off in my head, and the adrenalin starting to course through my veins, my brain had been informed that I had put pooh into my mouth. I stood motionless with pooh in my mouth.
But wait, it wasn’t pooh, exactly. It was a taste I had never tasted before. It defied all comparison with all oral experiences I’d had before, and I’ve had some pretty exotic things in my mouth, I can tell you. My mouth was on fire with this new and scary not quite pooh taste. Motionless I stared at the tube and carefully read through the ingredients. Wow. A load of stuff I’d never heard of, and all packed together into a tiny little tube and then unpacking themselves in a pungent way inside my mouth.
Now, one of the reasons I’d believed I could trust this toothpaste during those points at which I was initially suspicious, say, at the “it’s brown” stage was that it carried a name I trust, Corsodyl.
Corsodyl produce the ultimate mouthwash treatment for gums and mouth issues. For years I’ve had a bottle on stand-by. As soon as there’s a hint of an ulcer forming or anything else, a few days of sluicing with Corsodyl and everything is fought off and sorted. It is a wonderful product.
Recently we noticed they do a regular daily mouthwash to use after brushing, and so started to use it, and again, we’d agreed that our mouths felt cleaner and fresher than when using our previous brand.
Hence, the logical progression to trying their actual toothpaste, and my trusting them to not put pooh in my mouth.
Hilariously, the back of the tube includes a graph showing a frowny face and a smiley face, with a indication that over time one moves from frowning with pooh in your mouth to smiling with pooh in your mouth, and the website says, “It contains a special combination of plant extracts and mineral salt so you may find it takes a few weeks to get used to the unique taste and sensation.”
A few weeks? A few weeks? A few weeks of putting pooh in my mouth twice a day?
The website goes on to suggest trying it for 21 days, “While the taste might surprise you, there’s a good chance you’ll never go back to ordinary toothpaste again.”
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