We've all been there. The tip of your tongue is bruised and sore from all day prodding at that particular nook somewhere between the premolar and molar. Colleagues have been too distracted to hear what you have to say about that new idea as your face is contorting into various forms and shapes and your mouth looks busy at something else. That little nib just won't budge. It has nicely settled and snugged itself in a deep crevice. But your persistence at dislodging it is threatening its long term ambition of turning into plague.
You've been at it all day and nothing seems to move. And then suddenly it's out and you can send it on its way. You move your tongue there once more for the last time to appreciate the clearance and cleanliness. Your strained facial muscles can now relax. The sense of liberation and satisfaction comes all over you. One big tick. Life is normal and great again! You can take on anything and anyone now. You feel a sudden surge of energy and passion to sell that big idea to any big honchos in the board room. What joy. What small joy.