New Toothbrush

For Christmas I asked for something that no one should, could, or would want in their stocking: an electric toothbrush. No one but me- and members of the FDA- that is. But alas, I got a Bahamian cruise instead. Ineffably heartbroken that I had to spend four days in the Caribbean with my family instead of years of clean teeth, I did the only thing one can do in this situation- I asked for an electric toothbrush for my February birthday. February is the best month for a birthday; like a clean-up batter clearing house in baseball, a February birthday can totally clean up house for all the gifts you never got or even thought of in December.
Anyway, for my birthday I finally received the Sonicare toothbrush I had been dreaming of since I heard the words "You should get an electric toothbrush."
Admittedly, the toothbrush is intimidating, like a first date with the granddaughter of the late Kim Jong Il. It took me two weeks just to open the package because I was so scared of the assembly required. It then took me another evening of staring at the plastic casing to figure out how to open it. (I ended up sending a fusillade of scissor cuts bombinating across the packaging.  I sensed the wraith of a UPS man cringing in his truck around the corner.) It's been almost two weeks since my birthday and I still haven't tried the toothbrush. I finally acquiesced and assembled the toothbrush to the point where I can charge it, but that's as far as I've come. Every time I look at the toothbrush there on the corner of my countertop I have a histrionic phantasmagoria filled with images including stodgy toothpaste getting splattered all over my face and mirror. When the green light stopped flashing- indicating the charging process was complete- I gave a slight titter, not exactly sure if I should be execrated at the news or ecstatic; at this time I don't remember the specific emotion that followed, all I remember was being enervated at the lurid cessation of green.
People have done nothing but speak good things about these toothbrushes, so I probably don't have anything to fear. Even still, I've been taking soporifics at night just to get some sleep because the thought of sticking a whirring, enigmatic, brush into my mouth for two whole minutes is enough to keep the dearest of boyfriends awake during Twilight.
If you've had success with these machines please let me know; if you've had a more plaintive experience, please write a song about it and submit it to Adele.