30. Drop your toothbrush in the toilet.

You just got home from the dentist, and you couldn’t possibly be any happier. No cavities, no tooth decay, no plague, not a single solitary cell of bacteria. Your mouth is cleaner than the Pine Sol Lady’s house on the first day of spring, more spotless than an albino dalmation, more immaculate than that guy on the street corner who calls himself the Angel Of Death And Spare Change.

Feeling fresh and minty, you gaze adoringly at your brand new toothbrush. You opened up real wide, you kept real still during the x-rays, you even brought your own bib – all to win the holiest of prizes. A rubber-gripped, fully-contoured, 40 bristle count Tool of Dental Perfection. You behold its curves in awe, proud, amazed, and a little turned on. You delicately place it into the holder, which has already been cleared in anticipation of its arrival, and gaze at it longingly, counting down the hours until you may massage your eager gums with its tender stalks of hygiene.

Oooh…you just can’t wait until bedtime! In a reckless abandonment of any and all self-control, you tear the brush from its new home, slather it up with some Crest Whitening Sensations, and jam it into your mouth. It’s everything you dreamed it would be and more. A veritable symphony of dental health melodizes throughout your oral cavity as you ruthlessly destroy any microorganisms that could possibly have found their way into your mouth on the brief drive home from the dentist. Take THAT, gum disease! And THAT, halitosis! Don’t even THINK about it, acute necrotizing ulcerative gingivitis!

As you fervently shout vague threats at various inanimate oral disorders, your body slowly drifts away from the sink. Dancing around the bathroom in nothing but the dental bib that you have once again donned for this auspicious occasion, you are no longer aligned with the bathroom counter, and by the time you are able to wrench the brush out of your foamy, sputtering mouth, it’s too late. You place it gingerly upon the countertop, only to watch in horror as it totters ever so slightly, freezes for a nanosecond, then falls to the latrinical depths below.

As it splashes into the gaping maw of the porcelain sea, you scream shrilly and without restraint. One, because your precious dental tool has now become the property of the infamous Toilet Monster your mother always warned you about, and two, you’re going to have to fish that thing out of there using only a plunger and whatever small amount of ingenuity you happen to possess. The plunger only gets you so far; that is, you use it to poke the brush around, ultimately turning the magnificent Oral B Cross-Action Pro-Health into a mini toilet brush. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! you lament. Your once-gorgeous instrument of hygiene is now a foul, lowly poop-scrubber. You should have seen this coming, really. It was too beautiful for this world.

So if you want to suck, drop your toothbrush in the toilet. The moment you finally break down and plunge your hand into the bowl to retrieve it may not be the most glamorous minute of your life, but it will most definitely be followed by a vigorous hand-scouring and disinfection so thorough it’ll put Mr. Clean himself to shame, stalking away as he does to re-buff his mirror-like head.

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1 Comment »

  1. jonsquared said

    I’d have to say that’s one thing that hasn’t happened to me yet. I’ve dropped my toothbrush at times but never in the toilet bowl. Gosh, I feel so damned deprived.

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