Clean Teeth?

Did you ever use someone else’s toothbrush?

I did.

We just got home from the Weekend of Hope in Stowe, Vermont (more on that later), and I was just too tired to unpack. I parked my overnight bag on the floor in the bathroom with all my “essentials.”

Before we left for Vermont, we had a major leak in the basement and we had to call the plumber (can’t wait to get that bill!). My first thought at the time was, Oh no, I need to clean the bathroom before we leave.

It’s a woman thing: we need to clean the bathroom before the plumber comes even though the basement and bathroom are separated by three floors.

There’s no logic there, but it was important to me. My hubby still can’t understand what the basement has to do with the bathroom, but I told him I’d explain it to him on the way to Vermont (it was a nine-hour drive—just enough time to convince him that it was crucial that the bathroom was clean before the plumber arrived!).

I’m passionate about cleaning bathrooms. I get down on the floor with a toothbrush in hand and get in and behind all the nooks and crannies, including around the toilet (a trick I learned from having all “men” in the family).

Perfect!

Ten minutes later I had a sparkling clean bathroom and I was content. I put the pink toothbrush back in the pink plastic cup, laid it on the counter, and we were off to the green mountains of Vermont.

When we returned late Monday evening, I was exhausted. I grabbed the pink toothbrush, squeezed a generous portion of Crest toothpaste in a nice straight line and brushed my teeth. While I was brushing, I looked down at my overnight bag on the floor and saw another pink toothbrush staring back at me.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Please tell me it’s not what I think?

I spit. I screamed. I gargled with Listerine.

The "toilet" toothbrush was in my mouth!

And then I remembered what one of the presenters at the Weekend of Hope shared about the “tragedies” of life: “In light of everything, what’s the worst thing that can happen?”

I started with the worst outcome first: bad breath, amebic dysentery, cholera, and death.

No problem.

I had faced all of them before and I lived to tell about it.

No big deal, right?

This is day two and I’m still alive. Except I have put the cleaning toothbrush back where it belongs (under the counter), and my pink toothbrush for my teeth (not the toilet) is back in the toothbrush holder where it belongs.

All is "right" with my world. And no one has died…yet!

I’m still passionate about a clean bathroom. Only this time, I learned to put things back where I found them and NOT to use someone else’s toothbrush—even if it’s my own!


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passion, clean teeth, obsessive-compulsive, Weekend of Hope, cancer survivors