By Robert Lipsyte
This is an ode to a piece of string, waxed or unwaxed. Flossing is my life. Don't snicker, tartar tooth. If you knew what I know, and soon you will, you would hop off your StairMaster, pour out the Merlot and sell the country place. You would take your mental health in your own two hands, a few inches apart, and floss your troubles away.
Like so many great discoveries, this one was accidental. I was seeking dental -- not mental -- health, when I first stumbled into the offices of Dr. Mark.