All the Reasons I Don’t Wear My Mouth Guard, As Explained to My Dentist
It makes my mouth feel funny.
I’m fairly confident that I only ever grind my teeth while wearing the mouth guard.
I painted it red and turned it into a hummingbird feeder. It belongs to nature now.
Mouth guards are a scam. Why didn’t our parents need them? Because they’re a trendy moneymaking scheme that all dentists are in on, that’s why. No offense.
It smells weird.
I went on a weekend trip to Portland, left it in my hip row-house Airbnb, and was too embarrassed to ask my host Hemingway to send it back.
I always put it on before bed, but when I wake up it’s somehow on the floor, all the way across the room.
I gave it to my teething baby to chew on and she won’t give it back.
It creeps me out.
It makes me sound like Daffy Duck.
It adds too much time to my nightly ablutions. I’m busy and tired. Since when is flossing not good enough for you?
I don’t mind if I grind my teeth down a little. They’re a bit long, to be honest.
I’ve been dating someone for three months and just don’t think we’re at the “mouth guard” stage yet. You get that, right? Can’t you make one that’s cuter?
I hate it.
Wearing it regularly at night started messing with my oral spatial awareness during the day, and food kept dropping out of my mouth when I chewed.
It makes my face look fat.
I’m concerned about the long-term ramifications of sucking on a piece of plastic while I sleep and would totally read a Goop article about this, so they should probably write one.
I threw it away accidentally (because I hate it).
It looks skeletal and reminds me of death.
It makes me feel like a hockey player, but I’m more of a figure-skating type.
The dog stole it. It’s the dog’s now.
I feel that you guilted me into getting it and my therapist says that not wearing it is probably an act of defiance against you, because you’re kind of like a father figure, and I never really got to rebel against my own father. Anyway, I can’t wear it for mental-health reasons.