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Feel Like a Rich Girl: It’s the Little Space-Age Things that Matter

I’m not sure where I currently rank on the official class warfare scale that somebody seems to keep track of, although I’m holding out hope that the $1.27 I earn per month from Google Ads will pick up pace. As a kid, I usually felt rich enough because I was happy. My family had everything we needed and more; we had lots of fun, and I’ve never been hungry.

Fact: Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies expand in your stomach to coat every corner with trans fats, so I was always full.

***Disclaimer: My mother is a fantastic cook, and she’ll be ticked if I make it sound like we only ate Little Debbies. I just like to make fun of how much I used to love them. Carry on***

There were times when I thought we were absolutely loaded. If my mom bought me a new outfit or two, AND we went to Funland with friends, AND we hit the Chinese buffet with the family…oh my gosh. We were RICH!

And there were times I felt poor. It didn’t happen often, but I specifically remember the disappointment when my mom refused to buy ACT Fluoride Rinse with the super cool self-measuring dispenser. She bought it once and then never again. I don’t know why she wouldn’t get it—maybe I splashed it everywhere and it was a real pain—but I must have thought that she wouldn’t buy it because it was too expensive. Maybe she said I didn’t need it; it was an extra. Poor little me. All the rich kids like on tv shows probably had ACT, but not me.

I’m sure there are things that I do or don’t do that make my kids feel poor. Someday in the future they’ll probably complain about how I would never spring for individually packaged snack crackers.

Pure drudgery: my daughter putting pretzels in individual bags.

My underprivileged children have to bag their own pretzels. Such drudgery, and these containers barely fit in her Vera Bradley backpack.

So, now that I’m grown up, you know what one of the highlights of my day is? Every morning and night, after I’ve been a good girl and brushed my teeth properly, I get to squeeze that space-age bottle of ACT, listen to the slurp as the excess mouthwash automatically goes back in, turn the whole bottle upside down while only the pre-measured amount comes out (thrills me every time!), and swish that sweet liquid around my mouth. Sometimes I swirl it around in there for 5 or 10 minutes while I put laundry away or something. Just like Scrooge McDuck swims in his gold coins, my teeth soak in the top-shelf fluoride.

I always keep two bottles on hand at home. I’ve also got one at my parents’ house and one at my in-laws’ so I can enjoy ACT in all its self-measuring glory with minimal travel interruptions.

ACT fluoride rinse is a miracle of modern engineering.

Scientists are still studying this miracle of modern engineering.

So you can imagine my dismay today when my local store did not have it in a self-measuring dispenser. They only had ACT in a normal bottle, which is no fun at all. I immediately emailed the company with a note to “Please respond ASAP!” Within one hour they assured me that they are still manufacturing it in the self-measuring dispenser. (It’s from their email that I know it’s called a self-measuring dispenser; otherwise I’d be referring to it as that thingamabob on top.)

Thank goodness I can continue to buy my fluoride treat with the Mr. Gadget top and feel like a rich girl! I meanI don’t even look at the price before I put it in my basket. If they didn’t have ACT the way I like it, I might have been forced to do something more drastic, like buying individually wrapped snacks, opening them all, and mixing them in a bowl together. And then maybe I would swim in those snack crackers.

I’m glad we can share feelings like this.

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  1. Love your blog! I had the same experience as a child. I’ll have to try that ACT self measuring dispenser thing. I just discovered the Sensodyne Isoactive Toothpaste. I don’t have sensitive teeth. But I though the commercials looked really awesome with the whole foaming thing. I may have over-estimated my tolerance for foam. Or I put too much on my toothbrush. Either way, while brushing, my husband tells me I look like I have rabies. Married bliss, right?

    • Thank you! The foaming toothpaste sounds awesome. And I’m surprised there isn’t some vampire/werewolf movie that makes rabies–or at least mouth foam–a little sexier. Thanks for telling me about the Sensodyne. It’s on my shopping list. So excited!!!

  2. It’s a good thing that you wrote the disclaimer about your mother’s cooking! Everyone knows she can put Martha Stewart to shame! I dont think we were rich enough to even pack snacks for school. I had to walk all the way home for lunch~

  3. You don’t even look at the price – that IS rich girl talk! When I was a kid, I only felt poor when we got those ugly tennis shoes with the double Velcro straps. Now my kids practically spit on non-Velcro shoes, so I have absolutely no idea what’s going to make them feel broke.

    • I KNOW! It could be $5, and I wouldn’t even realize it. Also, it’s probably because I shop at Walmart and the price tags are small and stuff is always messy. I kinda like that. As for velcro, it’s high dolla’ these days.

  4. I was raised by hippies so even if we’d been rich (and I’m pretty sure we were), we NEVER bought individually wrapped products or anything that was processed in any way. I always wanted the sparkly toothpaste that tasted like bubble gum. I used to BEG for it. Sadly, that is one of those things that it’s quite as thrilling as an adult.

    • Haha–yeah, sparkly toothpaste is nasty! My friend was raised by semi-hippies, and they just had a pantry full of Grape Nuts. It was horrible. I feel sorry for you.

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