I was doing my morning routine – bath, dress, hair, make-up, – oops, did I brush my teeth? I couldn’t remember. After the many years, my mind goes on to more important matters while I do the routine.
Now, If I had been four there would have been no problem. The teeth and breath of a four year old are pretty new.
At eight, it still wouldn’t matter, because if I didn’t brush, mom would have caught me and sent me back to take care of the matter.
At twelve, I would have known I didn’t do it because I didn’t plan to.
At eighteen, I would not brush until after my breakfast; in other words after my coke and chips.
At twenty, it wouldn’t matter because I would not see my heart throb until lunch and it all has to be done again before that.
At thirty, I would have re-brushed just in case.
At forty, the bathroom was occupied with teenagers, so I would know I didn’t do it. I just grab my cosmetic kit and do a spit and polish at the office.
At fifty, I would never have forgotten because I painstakingly followed all health matters to a tee. My mind would have been on counting my teeth, fearing the inevitable.
Now, at sixty, I just check my toothbrush and see if it is wet. If it is not, I brush.
The picture above is me at 60 at my mother’s 80th birthday party.