Instead of one, I have two toothbrushes occupying the opposite holes in the toothbrush canister like a quarreling couple giving each other a cold silent treatment. And what’s more odd is the fact that I only use the one with blue-tipped bristles, so far, absolutely rendering the other (magenta-bristled) a disgraceful virgin in the gum-rubbing department.
I have no personal distaste or aversion towards purplish hues. It just doesn’t strike me on purely aesthetic level, that purple color. I figure the two brushes were packaged as “his and hers” for the price of one. Since I am a bonafide el cheapo who is too goshdarn lazy to rummage around the grocery for the dental hygiene rack containing toothbrushes packed in singles, I allowed myself to be lured by the promise of saving and discount — virtues that have no perceptible effect whatsoever to people like me who are full-blown morons in budgeting and financial proficiency. One of my heedlessly adopted principle is best summed by credito ergo sum. I spend therefore I am. Misers can just go and stuff their prudent throats with bland oatmeal for life while I munch on Frito Lays and other junk.
So there. That pretty much explains why I end up — and now stuck — with two toothbrushes occupying the opposite holes of the canister. The canister was designed to hold four toothbrushes. It’s made of translucent plastic in vivid blue — a striking color balancing the tightrope between vermilion and cyan — that appeals to design-savvy freaks like me.
“Like a swatch from a Van Gogh canvass!” I’d describe to anyone willing to listen, thereby announcing to the entire blogging universe my shameless and irredeemable geekness.
If I, ahem, allow my self-neurosis to reign supreme I’d admit to having peculiar thoughts that the Violet-Bristled Brush may be feeling neglected and awfully lonely. Maybe in the middle of the night, the two brushes would have conversations, where Violet Bristle would break into devastated sobs and Blue Bristle will come quick with consoling encouragement that a time will come when I, the pathologically callously irresponsible owner, will pick Violet Bristle and finally initiate its immaculate quills to the rancid decay swelling in between my teeth.
“I hope so, too.” Violet Bristle nods in dreamy assent, braving a smile and wiping snot off its imaginary nose. Then it brightly tells Blue Bristle, “but that would be the day when you’re worn and rendered pathetically useless.”
It’s safe to bet Blue Bristle is sore. Annoyed, scared and worried.
But above all, very sore.