Thy Breath Stinketh

It boggles my mind to imagine what it must've been like to live with and around constant bad breath, as people must have for the many centuries before toothpaste emerged as the essential product for oral hygiene. What the deuce did people do to freshen their breath?

Call me obsessive-compulsive, but I spend a minimum of three to four minutes brushing my teeth and tongue in the morning, with the assistance of a chemical paste refined by scientists over the last few decades so as to mercilessly obliterate the putrid microbes that multiply overnight in the dankness our mouths. Even so, I always put down my toothbrush reluctantly, wondering how much more I could've done to rid myself of lingering foul odors.

Now, at various points throughout the history of human civilization, different societies the world-over must've come up with concoctions intended to lessen the pungency of breath. But bad breath is a powerful foe. If I sometimes feel that my efforts are lacking, even though I come equipped to battle with 21st century firepower, how can our forebears have done an adequate job? At best, they stepped into the fray armed with a wooden mug of warm salt water spiked with some mint leaves. Good luck with that.

I guess the sad truth is that with every passing day of their lives, the breath of these poor souls grew progressively worse and worse. Result? They likely led a miserable, furry-toothed existence entrapped within a thick, oppressive, and inconceivably nauseating fog of chronic halitosis.

It's therefore a wonder that we survived as a species: for most of our history it was inevitable that every sexual encounter require the awkward evasive maneuvers we modern humans perform only during instances of pre-brush morning sex. I know that I, for one, would be discouraged from releasing my genetic material under such funktified conditions.

Now -- thou wilt fetch me some Crest.