I do not know why some things that really do not matter pop into my thoughts. Today’s case in point is the story about flossing.
Many, many years ago, the daughter of the person to whom I was with, came to visit over the Holidays. As always, it was a time of Christmas lights, presents, snow, and tense moments.
One morning, I came downstairs for a cup of tea. Sitting on the couch was his thirty-something-year-old daughter, feet tucked under her with shoes on, a mile’s worth of floss making its way between each of her teeth.
You read that right. She was flossing her teeth on the couch, the floss snapping between her teeth and particles of food flying hither and yon.
I was thoroughly grossed out. I went to her father and clandestinely mentioned this flossing extravaganza and asked that he send her to the bathroom to finish her dental regimen.
He saw nothing wrong with what she was doing. Flossing on the couch was just fine. Shoes on the couch was acceptable.
It wasn’t as if she was just a little kid learning about manners. She was an accountant with Tupperware at their Orlando headquarters, owned her own brand new house, and was supposed very “smart and gifted.”
For the longest time, I could not sit on that particular couch and was glad when it left my possession. I also learned that “gifted” doesn’t always mean “mannered.”