I really really REALLY wish people would not brush their teeth in public (or office) restrooms. I have, and always had, a profound aversion to watching someone brush their teeth or having a spectator present while I brush mine. I know some people think this is just plain odd but there are others who share my distaste. You know who you are. ;)

There was a woman at my last place of employment who used to brush her teeth after lunch every day. And hey, I get it. Oral hygiene is good. Healthy teeth and gums are essential for your overall wellbeing. And no one wants halitosis! But for some reason my bladder and her brushing schedule started to synchronize and every day I would walk into the washroom to see her bent over the sink, vigorously brushing her chompers. I don’t know what it is exactly. It could be the frothing or the spitting or the unmistakable sound the toothbrush makes as it scrapes back and forth along a person’s teeth…but I’m shuddering right now just picturing it! I would spot her and break into a speed walk toward the stalls, which always seemed miles away at that point.

Once I went to the washroom after lunch, thinking I was in the clear because the lone brusher was not in her usual position. But when I came out of the stall, there she was – hunched over the sink, bent arm moving furiously up and down, side to side as the room filled with that awful and inimitable ch-ch-ch-ch-ch sound.

PANIC! What do I do? I had to wash my hands but how to do this without losing my lunch?!?! I made the snap decision to go to the sink furthest from the nausea-inducing brushing and wash my hands as fast as humanly possible. But my colleague turned her head (yikes!) and spotted me. I pretended not to notice her so she said “Ay Gaggie!”

NO NO NO! Even worse than brushing near me is trying to speak to me when your mouth is full of minty froth. (Note: This could also be the reason I hate mint. It reminds me of toothpaste which reminds me feeling nauseated.) In my near panic I said ‘oh hey’ and walked out the door without properly rinsing or drying my hands. That’s what pants are for, right? Right.

It’s come to the point where I’m not only grossed out but also borderline offended when people brush in a public loo. My phobia is a bit weird, I know. But that aside, I just feel that this is a personal grooming routine which should only be done in the privacy of one’s own bathroom. For me it falls in the same category as shaving or nail clipping. These are things you do (or should do) in the sanctity of your own home. Call me crazy…

Over the holidays I was washing dishes with my Mom and we started talking about Christmas movies we liked. Our favourites were Black Christmas (the original with Margot Kidder) and The Muppet Christmas Carol. Last year she bought the Little House on the Prairie Christmas special on DVD but hadn’t watched it until just recently. I was skeptical. I really loved this show as a child but as an adult I think all the overt Christian morality lessons might make me nauseated.

The story of Christmas at Plum Creek is this. Laura has a pony that she loves dearly—a pony that is coveted by the repugnant Nelly Oleson. Now Nelly Oleson still evokes the same disdain in me now as she did when I was 8. Just the thought of her precious blonde ringlets makes me want to bitchslap someone. But I digress…

I’m not sure how Laura even possesses something that Nelly doesn’t have yet (least of all a pony!) but whatever. Nels (Nelly’s slender father and proprietor of Oleson’s Mercantile) of course wants to indulge his spoiled daughter’s every whim and approaches Pa (Charles Ingalls) about the pony. He offers to buy the pony but Pa says no dice.

Meanwhile, back in Walnut Grove, the plucky and observant little half pint notices Ma (Caroline Ingalls) drooling over a stove for sale at Oleson’s Mercantile. A plan begins to form in our heroine’s head:

If I sell my pony to Nelly, I can buy Ma the stove for Christmas. God bless us. Every one.

So Laura sells the pony and gets the stove. The unfortunate part, and the part where my sweetheart of a mother started to weep, was that Pa had been slaving away making Laura a new saddle for her pony. So come Christmas, Caroline gets the stove and Laura gets the homemade saddle for the pony that she sacrificed for the family’s greater good. Of course the secret plan gets revealed to all the Ingalls clan and they revel in Laura’s selfless nature and the magic of Christmas etc., etc., etc. I bet Pa even breaks out the fiddle to celebrate.

Stunned, I asked my mom, “Does Laura get her pony back?”

“Well no, they just all enjoy the Christmas feast together. And then…then it ends.”

Seriously!? I get that it’s a Christmas special and it’s all about giving and family and good Christian values and blah blah blah… but come on! The Ingalls just keep getting shafted! Think about it…Mary goes blind, Albert gets addicted to morphine, Laura loses a baby, the school for the blind that Mary and her husband open burns to the ground…it never ends! But hey, they still have each other, right? Bah.

Fucking Nelly Oleson.