Thursday, August 14, 2008
Moving of the Toothbrush
I have issues with toothbrushes. The way they show up in your bathroom when you start dating someone and then linger there after you and that person have parted ways. I don’t like throwing them out. I don’t like keeping them around. I don’t like seeing my single toothbrush alone in the holder after I’ve disposed of an ex’s.
Last Christmas, my parents bought me an electric toothbrush. This does provide a dazzling and technologically advanced distraction, however I still keep a regular one in my medicine cabinet, and I still look at it every day, standing steadfast at its post.
When Mr. Wonderful and I began dating, and he started spending enough time over here to need his own dental care items, I decided to do the cautious thing and place his brush on the third shelf of the cabinet. That way, I wouldn’t associate it with my own brush, and miss it if it ever needed to be scraped along the lip of my toilet, torched and pitched into the trashcan.
It’s been perched up there since November, balanced carefully on a box of teeth bleaching gel, waiting patiently to be relocated to the porcelain cup on the bottom shelf.
Well, I don’t know whether it was the fact that I had a new box of Imodium to store on shelf three—or maybe Mr. W’s charming use of no-no hole—but this morning I moved his toothbrush down next to mine.
Yes, it’s a big risk. But I’m willing to take it and be hopeful that the only reason his brush will disappear is because he’s upgrading it to a new one. Or all his teeth have fallen out.