If only a tube of toothpaste could talk. Hmm… Why not? Let’s give toothpaste the fifteen minutes of fame it deserves for its upper and lower Olympic twizzles and stretches beneficial for oral health.
Toothpaste and I spoke together in the bathroom, and I recorded the words. Have a listen.
I have high standards, and it’s about time I give a big squeeze and slip out on my own initiative.
My pet peeve is the self-centered person who presses me from my middle without giving much thought to my personal feelings in the matter. It hurts my ego — show a little respect, huh.
Sweaty hands grab me roughly and let too much paste out for one brushing. Half of my green minty gel — white brightening formula if you prefer — slides into the sink washing down the drain like I am no longer worthy of my life’s work. That makes me put on my sad face.
Sharp fingernails — I do love looking at well-manicured nails — stab me like piercing an outside protective layer of skin. Once I get a hole, it is a losing battle trying to stay together like a leaky garden hose. You might as well toss me out.
Then again, others hold down my bottom firmly and give me a push like I am going to orbit into space before the final countdown.
The gentle person that wiggles me a little from the top back and forth — gripping is a problem I am aware of in older age — makes me dizzy as all get out. I see stars and purple cows floating by.
There’s more to me than simply being a handy object in your personal hygiene routine.
I’m letting you know in no uncertain terms how it feels to get poked and prodded, thrown onto a shelf co-mingling with assorted pill bottles that I share no common interest whatsoever let alone any more than polite conversation. You dismiss me until you need me — out of sight, out of mind brushing, flossing and mouth rinsing twice a day.
The cabinet gets stifling without ventilation and I am crammed in any space there is an ounce of room. (Flexibility has its advantages.) Oh, when I am thrown out by accident as the medicine cabinet opens suddenly, it is like going into freefall at the amusement park. That hurts.
Think about the last time you missed me terribly — that might have never occurred to you. On a whim you opened the bathroom cabinet checking on how I was doing. You took me out for a brushing just because you could, and I forgave you for interrupting my nap. Your teeth will be forever grateful, too, for a little extra TLC.
Remember how I came to your aid during a crisis of “spinach teeth” when the boyfriend was on his way to pick you up, and bad breath would have been the date breaker?
The way you use me shows your personality, and don’t try to hide your abusive nature. And especially, if yours is a multi-user household, I get the worst of it, and don’t last very long before I am traveling to the recycling center neck to neck with assorted smells and sticky garbage.
I have my favorite people, and there are other ones that I wish I could stay away from at all costs.
My best user is one that is all over the place in his approach to handling me. I never know where to expect the squeeze. I love to make it rough on him when the tube is down to the very few applications of gel. Sometimes I can get him to give up and save the hassle.
My least favorite is the very aggressive person that knocks me flat on the counter and uses the counter edge periodically to push the toothpaste toward the nozzle, and only squeezes on that fatter end.
Being methodically rolled up like I am a pretzel one push at a time is tough. I have little energy left within me curled up tightly, and my breathing becomes sporadic.
When you are in a hurry and leave my cap off, it is an insult of the highest form. Forgetting me on the counter is inconsiderate, and I feel exposed to the whim of ants, flies and sink water splashing over me.
There are certain people that spend a goodly amount of time brushing their teeth and flossing. I think that has more to do with the fact that they are into their own thoughts. Before you know it, they have lost track of how long they have been standing in front of the bathroom mirror.
Last night I was with a toddler standing on his bench learning to brush for the very first time. A lot of my gel was taken up and more got smeared on his adorable face. Mommy was patient and tomorrow will be another day of learning a life habit. He went to his bed singing to Bert and Ernie, and me, too. Priceless.
I know that I make a lot of promises in the advertisements. I wish that they didn’t give out any false hopes that your enamel will look like a movie star’s pearly whites. I’m still trying to figure out how the period characters on “Game of Thrones” have all their teeth, and shiny ones, too.
You should write about toothbrushes, too, for we have a relationship that is heartfelt and tender on the gums.