Last night I dreamed everyone was praying with floss

I'm walking through a dim chapel and instead of candles, everyone's holding little spools of mint floss, moving it between their teeth in slow, reverent arcs. No one speaks. The whole room just hums with that tiny squeak of clean enamel. I woke up half-convinced I'd been to some kind of dental vespers. Maybe my brain is just tired of how people lately talk about brushing like it's a sacrament—but it was oddly peaceful, not scary.