Last night before retiring to bed I noticed that the bathroom fixtures were accumulating some mineral build-up and set about scrubbing them with a recycled toothbrush. Then I was distracted by a football game. When I returned to the bathroom half an hour later the toothbrush was nowhere to be seen. After looking around for a bit I noticed that there was one additional member of the toothbrush holder.
I asked SB to verify that his toothbrush was blue while the cleaning brush was green but he didn't remember which one was his. Then I realized the great likelihood of him having just brushed his teeth with my cleaning brush before replacing it in the holder. The look of horror on my face must have clued him in because all of our toothbrushes were violently expelled into the trash. Then he stormed off into the bedroom while I wrung my hands. Eventually he came back and we replaced our toothbrushes. Then he took out a knife. Oh, now I know that brushing your teeth with a cleaning brush is kinda terrible but shanking me seems kind of like overkill. Luckily he was not interested in carving me up though he did proceed to mutilate his new toothbrush so that he would be able to identify it. He may have been trying to carve his initials but a craftsman he is not.
Later that night I generously informed him that although I would prefer to wait a week before kissing him, I would do so then because I loved him so much. "Thanks," he replied. Then as I was leaning in with the smallest pucker I could manage he grabbed my face and licked me from my chin to my nose. This led to a fight to the death, or at least until I was gasping for air from laughing too much while struggling in his octopus-like grasp.
He is so lucky to have me. I tell him so all the time.
I asked SB to verify that his toothbrush was blue while the cleaning brush was green but he didn't remember which one was his. Then I realized the great likelihood of him having just brushed his teeth with my cleaning brush before replacing it in the holder. The look of horror on my face must have clued him in because all of our toothbrushes were violently expelled into the trash. Then he stormed off into the bedroom while I wrung my hands. Eventually he came back and we replaced our toothbrushes. Then he took out a knife. Oh, now I know that brushing your teeth with a cleaning brush is kinda terrible but shanking me seems kind of like overkill. Luckily he was not interested in carving me up though he did proceed to mutilate his new toothbrush so that he would be able to identify it. He may have been trying to carve his initials but a craftsman he is not.
Later that night I generously informed him that although I would prefer to wait a week before kissing him, I would do so then because I loved him so much. "Thanks," he replied. Then as I was leaning in with the smallest pucker I could manage he grabbed my face and licked me from my chin to my nose. This led to a fight to the death, or at least until I was gasping for air from laughing too much while struggling in his octopus-like grasp.
He is so lucky to have me. I tell him so all the time.
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