Birthday purchase was a teeth-rattling experience

My daughter Kate was incredulous.

“How much did you pay for that?” she asked.

“About $100,” I replied. “I found it on sale for $10 off, so I think I got a pretty darn good …”

She cut me off.

“$100?” she said, with her eyebrow cocked in full you-gotta-be-kidding mode. “For a TOOTHBRUSH?”

Well, OK, when you put it like that, it does sound slightly … insane. However, I prefer to think of it as a practical expenditure in preventive dental health care.

Oh, who am I kidding? I just wasted an entire Benjamin. Every time I go to the dentist, they give me a free toothbrush.

The question of why I blew $100 on a toothbrush can be answered in only one way. The Sonicare Elite toothbrush is a really, truly, absolutely, super-duper, good toothbrush. It sure as hell better be.

I still believe it is. I really, truly absolutely do. It is recommended by dental professionals everywhere.

However, what I did not realize is this: Besides being a marvelous device for plaque prevention, it also doubles as a high-quality implement of dental torture.

I am not kidding. When I first stuck this thing in my mouth, I thought my entire cranium had been clamped into the Home Depot’s paint-mixing machine.

Shaken and drooling from the incident, I turned to my wife, Carol, and said, “All in all, I’d rather have a root canal.”

I wasn’t expecting anything quite so brain-rattling. I thought I was immune to the ravages of power toothbrushes. I have been using a different (and much cheaper) power toothbrush for years, the Oral-B. A little whirring and buzzing is nothing to me. Yet the first time I placed Sonicare to bicuspid, I was shaken by the truth: The Sonicare is to Oral B what the baddest Brahma bull at the rodeo, Cement Mixer, is to My Little Pony.

The Sonicare is not some wimpy rotating-head contraption. This thing works by pulsating at ultra-high-speed, thus blasting the plaque right off your molars. This is assuming that you have applied the Sonicare to your actual molars. The first few times I used it, the brush head ricocheted at the speed of sound from gum to tongue to the roof of my mouth, as if I had placed an agitated hummingbird into my oral cavity.

I soon learned to control the immense atomic power that is the Sonicare. Well, not entirely. I still give myself the occasional buzz, especially when reaching for those pesky back teeth. When the shaft of the brush accidentally touches my tooth or gum line, I feel as if I have stumbled upon a new Al Qaeda interrogation method.

The brush head is made up of nice soft bristles, thus cushioning the shock. Yet the shaft is hard plastic, vibrating at speeds previously known only in the Super-Collider. When the shaft hits bone, it makes a squeal reminiscent of Ted Nugent strangling either his guitar or a small jackalope. My entire head buzzes at an ultra-high-frequency, scaring the dog.

You know that little zap you get when you’re fooling around with a cattle-prod, and you accidentally jam it into your mouth? That’s how it feels.

So, is it worth it? You bet. What my daughter does not understand is that when we reach our 50s and beyond, we worry more about silly things like periodontal disease. I happen to be a prolific plaque-producer – yes, I’m very proud of this talent – and I need to be more aggressive about beating the tar out of my tartar.

So, being a guy, I didn’t merely resolve to floss more regularly. I went out with my birthday money and bought an expensive power tool.

Oh. That makes it sound even more pathetic, doesn’t it? Using my birthday money to buy a $100 toothbrush?

Still, this should all pay off when I have my next dental checkup. My wife recently had a post-Sonicare checkup. The hygienist said her teeth were cleaner than she’d ever seen them.

So buying a $100 toothbrush may not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. It certainly wasn’t as dumb as uttering the following words: “All in all, I’d rather have a root canal.”