In which I discuss this afternoon's activities

FROM THE BEGINNING of any relationship, toothbrush etiquette is important. When is it okay to start bringing your toothbrush? When is it okay to leave it there? When does it become your responsibility to replace the other person’s toothbrush at your place? And most recently, what am I supposed to do with the ex/boyfriend's toothbrush now that he’s moved to New York? In a compromise I considered appropriate for our current "understanding," the toothbrush had recently started shuttling out and in of the medicine cabinet: out of the cabinet before he arrived for one of his many weekend visits, and back in when he left and we were supposedly not together.

The ex/boyfriend and I progressed quickly from the “Hello, nice to meet you” stage to the “I am providing you a toothbrush” stage, in large part because I think it’s only charitable and the mark of a good host to provide even a quasi-significant other with their own toothbrush. And if we’re being honest, (A) I have no interest in kissing your morning mouth, thank you, and (B) under no circumstances are you using my toothbrush. My tongue may slut around with every mouth in town, but my toothbrush will know one mouth and one mouth only.

From there, it was a hop skip and about 8 weeks to, “I am replacing this for you, and for that matter, here’s a replacement for your other one at home because that one is a big ol’ mess too.”

Then, earlier this week, in a moment I was sure was rife with symbolic meaning, I used the ex/boyfriend’s toothbrush to clean the mysteriously orange-colored stuff around my bathroom sink faucet that had suddenly crossed the border between “chill out, no one notices this shit but you” and “mother of god, this must go immediately.” While cleaning, I daydreamed. In one of those reveries in which you try on a scenario to see how it might fit were it to come to pass, I imagined the conversation that might ensue when the ex/boyfriend returned to find his toothbrush had become a cleaning utensil.

“Babe? Where’s my toothbrush?”

“Oh, I used to it to clean the sink,” I would say from the other room, the very embodiment of poise and calm. In fact, I imagined myself sitting on a bed covered in a white comforter, surrounded by plump white pillows. This bed bears no resemblance to my actual bed, mind you.

“You did?” he would ask, coming out of the bathroom, eyes big moons of confusion and the beginnings of hurt.

“Well, we’re not really boyfriends any more, are we? So I felt funny having your toothbrush here.”

And then we would have that discussion we’ve been avoiding, the one about what exactly we’re doing and whether our "understanding" is working for each of us. Maybe we would cry. And maybe I would feel badly for so heartlessly using his toothbrush as a grime removal device, and I would dash out to the 24/7 CVS around the corner and buy him a new one. In the rain. And then we would make out. After he brushed his teeth.


TWO DAYS AGO, I learned that the ex/boyfriend is coming down this coming weekend, and suddenly my using his toothbrush to neaten up and thereby spark a conversation I'm not prepared to have at this juncture became the Wrong Thing to Do. Standing in the bathroom, holding his now gray (and, again, strangely orange-colored) toothbrush, I immediately decided I had to buy him another toothbrush. While I’m at it, I thought, glancing at my own toothbrush, mine could stand to be replaced as well.

When I got to the CVS, I headed directly to the toothbrush section. Or as directly as anyone heads anywhere in CVS. I think it’s actually impossible to find what you’re looking for with any sort of alacrity, as there seems to be neither rhyme nor reason to drug store product placement. Regardless, I eventually found the toothbrushes, and it hit me: there are far too many toothbrush options.

Do I want a compact, regular, or full head? Do I want soft, medium, or firm bristles? Do I want a narrow handle that curves, or a bulbous monstrosity that couldn’t fit through my door, much less the holes in my toothbrush holder? Do I want it in normal red, deep red, bright red, or some shade in between? Do I want to do all the work myself, or do I want Dora the Explorer to do the work for me? Do I want my bristles to be of uniform material, length and direction, or do I want them to be a jumbled mess designed to hit every nook and cranny from every angle, massage my gums, and straighten my bottom teeth?

The problem with having this many choices for something like a toothbrush is that, through trial and error, you eventually figure out the exact type you prefer. The truth is that I’ve developed quite an attachment to a toothbrush that I think acknowledges the advancement in toothbrush technology, while still nodding at classic toothbrush design: the bristles are arranged in a ridged pattern, with a clump of longer bristles at the top to really get at those back teeth, and a patch of those blue bristles that let you know when it’s time to trade it in for a newer model. For a good two years, I’ve been able to find this toothbrush without fail, in my preferred blue no less, which I have considered a testament to my good taste.

(I've even been able to find it in red -- just plain red -- for the ex/boyfriend. Who, it bears mentioning, has the exact same toothbrush preferences as I do.)

That is, I was able to find that toothbrush without fail until today. Today I visited no less than three drugs stores in a fruitless attempt to find my preferred toothbrush, and ultimately wound up settling on these totally bland CVS brand disappointments in his and his navy and light blue.

All of which is to say, I’m stocking up on toothpaste.