Pearly Whites
Bleaching the Pearly Whites While Purifying the Soul
I may be a sinner, but I'm no liar. "I'm whitening my teeth," I explained. "That'th why I'm talking like thith."
"You're ... multitasking?" she said, her smile sliding down her face. Was that bad? Surely no god would want me to parade through this world with dingy dentistry.
The service was lovely. Inspiring, even. We sang "Here Comes the Sun" and people shared stories of change in their lives. For the first time, I really understood the appeal of church. Like seeing a therapist, Sunday worship is scheduled mindfulness — setting aside a small chunk of time to think about important things, to wrestle with them quietly, in a softly lit spot, so we can put them out of our heads for the rest of the week.
But I won't go back. The divinity-invoking raised my hackles, and the congregation was pushy, trying to get me to stay afterward and sign up for things. I'm not a stayer. Not a congregater. Not a signer-upper. Their program just didn't do enough to wear down my infidel enamel.
The Whitestrips, on the other hand, worked miracles.
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