Hi, I’m Robert, and I’m deathly afraid of being this guy.
This is that awkward part where you recall a time I had really bad breath and think “Apparently not.”, and I look at you really sheepishly and turn red and then gargle with some bleach.
Bad breath is one of those things that just seems so inescapable. (Like when you’re playing Pokemon for the first time and realize that Brock’s Onix is freakin strong and your charmander’s scratch is not very effective and you figure “Oh, I’ll just run away like I usually do” and the game’s like, “YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE”)
I mean, what do you do? Straight up tell the person, “Hey, your breath smells.”? Try to back away slowly? Cover your nose with your hands while your eyes water and try to pass it off as your “concerned face”?
It’s a terrible position to be in, and a terrible position to put someone in, really. Whenever I don’t have a minty taste in my mouth, I get super paranoid.
I try to do that thing where you blow into your hands and smell your breath, but mostly I just end up smelling my hands. They smell like wildflowers and freshly bathed babies, so that doesn’t help. (I know this is not the smell of my breath because I don’t eat wildflowers.)
Luckily, I’m about as smooth as they come, so I’ve invented a few tricks to help hide my breath, should it smell terrible.
The situation:
I’m in a relatively loud environment. Perhaps a party or a… mixer of some sort. There are females present, and everybody’s mingling. I approach a fine young lass and strike up an interesting, funny, and refreshingly deep conversation. We talk about things like dinosaurs, literature, and hydroplaning. As our voices become softer and our body language more receptive, we reach a point where it becomes possible to smell each other’s breath.
That’s when I motion for her to lean closer, and I position my head next to hers, my mouth adjacent to her ear. I whisper sweet nothings about dandelions, marsupials, and lemon drops.
She thinks, “Wow, I’m probably in love. I’ve never met a man who’s not afraid to whisper in my ear with such confidence. It’s like there’s no one else in the room.”
She’s completely oblivious to the fact that my mouth smells like an incontinent oyster. She’ll never know unless she happens to smell her own ear. Fortunately for us both, that’s anatomically impossible. (Go ahead, try it.)
[lawlz @ you trying to smell your ear]
Situation 2
I’m in a movie theatre, seated next to an attractive date. She may or may not be the same girl from the mixer I attended in the first hypothetical situation.
It’s about 2 ½ or 3 hours into the movie, and Frodo’s said goodbye to Sam for the 38th time. I feel now is the time to make a hilarious remark about how they might not just be hobbit friends. Such a well-timed quip will surely make her fall in love with me.
I cover my mouth with one hand, like I would if I were surprised, yawning, or beat boxing. I lean in so she knows I’m about to say something brilliant, as usual. She can’t wait, she’s on the edge of her seat. She struggles to contain her laughter. She thinks, “I’m definitely in love. He treats me like I’m the only person in the world, always saving his funniest remarks for me and me only.”
She’s unaware that my breath smells like a gallon of badger milk fermenting in a rainforest. Fortunately for us both, the odor is obstructed by the scent of wildflowers and freshly bathed babies.
Situation 3
I’m in bed. It’s the morning after I’ve married an amazing woman, possibly the same female from the first two hypothetical situations.
I wake first, and slip smoothly and silently from beneath the covers. I sense stench in my mouth. I quickly brush my teeth and scrub my tongue with a pine tree air freshener. It’s almost time to wake her up.
But first, I slip out the door and prepare her favorite morning food: Wheaties, the breakfast of champions.
I bring the bowl of victory on a tray with her favorite flower in the pot I made with her at color-me-mine. I whisper in my best fake groggy morning voice, “Good morning, beautiful.”
She wakes slowly, then pinches herself to make sure she’s not dreaming. She thinks “Wow, I’m the luckiest girl in the world. My husband brings me a perfect breakfast, and his morning breath smells like Christmas time.”
Little does she know my morning breath actually smells like I ingested a frightened striped polecat.
There you have it.
It’s that easy folks. Am I a little crazy? Perhaps.
But the next time you’re talking to someone with terrible breath, you’re going to think to yourself, “Man, I wish this guy would visit dyingread.com”
image by Alex Bates
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