Monday, April 22, 2002
The Toothbrush Portent
From my bathtub, I have a ring-side view of the sink. In the arena of the toothbrush holder, our toothbrushes are facing on another tonight, looking, for all intents and purposes, as if they are involved in an imbroglio. It is my belief from not only my vantage point in the bathroom, but also from the knowledge of my own habitual behavior of turning my toothbrush towards the outside of the cup, that it is no accident that they face each other like pugilists.
I wonder about this:
Every morning, I'm first in the bathroom and brush my teeth with the blue toothbrush. I used to use a green toothbrush, but He, either not aware or just not concerned that our toothbrushes are color-coded, opened and used the green one on new-toothbrush morning. So, though it feels like a shoe on the wrong foot and though I have to consciously THINK about which is mine, I now use the blue.
Despite the color switch, I still brush, rinse and spit as usual. I don't like tooth-brushing detritus falling into the holder and so I turn my toothbrush out. He-of-the-green-toothbrush, judging from His brush's slatternly appearance, is completely unconcerned about tooth-brushing detritus and so drops His toothbrush pell-mell into its hole. (Interestingly, we ALWAYS, without fail and without regard to individual compulsions about tooth-brushing, use the same holes.)
So, sometimes, His toothbrush faces away and all day our toothbrushes stand stubbornly back-to-back. And sometimes when this happens, one toothbrush might slightly bend toward the other in a tentatively apologetic posture. And the other times, His toothbrush faces mine, which, due to my regard for toothbrush-holder-hygiene, faces away and it appears as if His green toothbrush is eternally chasing my blue, and again, occasionally, mine tilts slightly in, as if giving up or being reigned in, or His might tilt slightly back as if pulling away (or reigning in especially uncooperative quarry).
But tonight, mine, the blue one, is cringing slightly beneath His, the green one, as if His has an especially important point to make. ("No wire hangers!" I can imagine Green saying, "What's wire hangers doing in this closet when I told you no wire hangers?! EVER!!!! ")
I wonder how the position of our toothbrushes relate to the outcome of our day or the resultant atmosphere in the house. Are we positioning our toothbrushes subconsciously based on subtle changes of our relationship barometer? Or, after we've brushed, rinsed and spit, do our toothbrushes process our essential vibrations and adjust accordingly? Are we destined to fight tonight because our toothbrushes resemble a Tyson-Spinks round? Or is it perhaps only a pre-sexual parry and I'm destined to get lucky?
Yes, I'm a believer in portents. But I feel slightly ridiculous using the position of our toothbrushes as a prognosticator of the future.
C. ONeill
(note: this was previously published at Uber)
From my bathtub, I have a ring-side view of the sink. In the arena of the toothbrush holder, our toothbrushes are facing on another tonight, looking, for all intents and purposes, as if they are involved in an imbroglio. It is my belief from not only my vantage point in the bathroom, but also from the knowledge of my own habitual behavior of turning my toothbrush towards the outside of the cup, that it is no accident that they face each other like pugilists.
I wonder about this:
Every morning, I'm first in the bathroom and brush my teeth with the blue toothbrush. I used to use a green toothbrush, but He, either not aware or just not concerned that our toothbrushes are color-coded, opened and used the green one on new-toothbrush morning. So, though it feels like a shoe on the wrong foot and though I have to consciously THINK about which is mine, I now use the blue.
Despite the color switch, I still brush, rinse and spit as usual. I don't like tooth-brushing detritus falling into the holder and so I turn my toothbrush out. He-of-the-green-toothbrush, judging from His brush's slatternly appearance, is completely unconcerned about tooth-brushing detritus and so drops His toothbrush pell-mell into its hole. (Interestingly, we ALWAYS, without fail and without regard to individual compulsions about tooth-brushing, use the same holes.)
So, sometimes, His toothbrush faces away and all day our toothbrushes stand stubbornly back-to-back. And sometimes when this happens, one toothbrush might slightly bend toward the other in a tentatively apologetic posture. And the other times, His toothbrush faces mine, which, due to my regard for toothbrush-holder-hygiene, faces away and it appears as if His green toothbrush is eternally chasing my blue, and again, occasionally, mine tilts slightly in, as if giving up or being reigned in, or His might tilt slightly back as if pulling away (or reigning in especially uncooperative quarry).
But tonight, mine, the blue one, is cringing slightly beneath His, the green one, as if His has an especially important point to make. ("No wire hangers!" I can imagine Green saying, "What's wire hangers doing in this closet when I told you no wire hangers?! EVER!!!! ")
I wonder how the position of our toothbrushes relate to the outcome of our day or the resultant atmosphere in the house. Are we positioning our toothbrushes subconsciously based on subtle changes of our relationship barometer? Or, after we've brushed, rinsed and spit, do our toothbrushes process our essential vibrations and adjust accordingly? Are we destined to fight tonight because our toothbrushes resemble a Tyson-Spinks round? Or is it perhaps only a pre-sexual parry and I'm destined to get lucky?
Yes, I'm a believer in portents. But I feel slightly ridiculous using the position of our toothbrushes as a prognosticator of the future.
C. ONeill
(note: this was previously published at Uber)
