New Product Idea: Breakfast Toothpaste

The best part of waking up used to be Folger’s in your cup. I don’t think that’s still the case. Regardless, I think we can agree that brushing your teeth with a noxious, minty ooze is not in the top ten. Especially when you’re about to drink coffee, eat breakfast, etc. And even if you’re a postprandial tooth brusher, the harsh juxtaposition of flavors is still a major buzzkill.

Therefore, the fine folks at R#P offer something to assuage that unpleasantness, a new line of Breakfast-flavored Toothpaste.

Why should mint and spearmint and peppermint and bubblegum (gross) dominate the toothpaste game? Looking for a toothpaste that is in harmony with your morning? Then try R#P’s French Toast toothpaste. With warm bready notes and a sweetness that comes from pure maple syrup, your tongue won’t believe how clean your teeth are!

We also offer 13 different varieties of our world-famous Coffeenamel Collection™, including your favorites:

  • Canines Cappuccino
  • Deep, Dark Dental Espresso
  • Molar Mocha
  • Incisor Instant Coffee
  • Wisdom Whole Bean

COMING SOON: Scrambled Eggs with Gum Protection!

Find us in the breakfast aisle!

Owls

I’m sitting on the toilet seat staring at the shower curtain touching my knee.

It’s an intricate pattern that’s almost Greek key, but not,

I see an owl—

two owly eyes and a beak that howls hoot hoot.

The whole curtain is owls.

I wipe and get friendly with my sphincter. At a certain age

you become more in touch with your erogeny.

I don’t know what it means, if it means any-

thing, but the body changes it doesn’t stay

static. It evolves, goes through phases

like the moon

like girls in college

like laser light beams in a space opera (no, that’s phasers).

I’m going through phases. I want to be the person

who sits in a Starbucks reading poetry

gripping a grande

cappuccino or flat white or green tea latte

something slightly bitter with steamed milk—

not too sugary—nothing too

addictive; melt into a wing-back chair,

plush stained cush-

ions, holding my paper cup with pinkie-finger poking out daintily,

a tome of the finest meter and rhyme in my lap

whiling away the day

to the sound of easy listening and holiday favorites,

chasing aristocracy, but belonging in a barn

with the owl, the cock and the tufted tit-

mouse

which isn’t a mouse at all.

Hoooooooooot.