An Ode To My Toothbrush(es)
My toothbrush and I have a complicated relationship.
We’ve seen each other through some trying times.
It remains the longest-standing argument I’ll ever have with my mother.
(have you brushed your teeth today darling, they’re looking a bit yellow)
It is my savior on the nights I wake up desperate to remove his taste from my memory.
(even if it doesn’t always get the job done)
It’s been left in hostels, campsites, friends washrooms beside the sink to be thrown out upon discovery.
(curse my scatterbrained forgetfulness)
It’s been shoved down my throat after nights of binge-drinking teetering around in heels through the streets of Tel Aviv.
(better to go to bed sick then wake up hungover)
It was the cause of both teen angst and teen joy over the years of braces and headgear.
(mostly joy, but don’t tell my mother that)
It has been sneakily used before waking my partner.
(no one likes to rise and shine to morning breath)
It’s been thrown in the bottom of a dingy purse.
(no toiletry bag to be found)
It’s been forgotten, abused, praised and replaced.
We’ve seen good times and bad, my toothbrush and I.
(I’m sorry for forgetting about you at every opportunity)