dirty, dirty toofpaste

Last night, I told my borderline live-in boyfriend that I'd bought new toothpaste but that I'd left said toothpaste out in a Walgreen's bag in the trunk of my car. "I don't want you to get it, I want to play Scrabble," he cried (and if I misquote, I still assert that the spirit of the statement is true, however opposed he is to my writing it here).

"Okay, I'll get it tomorrow morning, then. Just use what's left of that tube, then. There's some left."

Silence. I turned back around and he pointed at the trash can. Through words and actions I couldn't make sense of, Jim was indicating that I'd already thrown the sticky, crushed Colgate tube away. It now sat in the bathroom garbage can, surrounded by tissues, trying to camouflage itself behind a nest of hair I'd recently disentangled from my hairbrush.

"I'll get it out. It'll be fine."

He didn't like that option, but I went for it anyway. "I'll just unscrew the top here. There's no hair on it." (GROSS!) In the midst of unscrewing the top, plop! went the entire tube into the toilet. (GROSSER!)

Actual evidence:


Of course we ended up out at the car to fetch the new tubes. For some reason, Jim didn't want to use the Colgate even though there was still some left in the hairy, toilety tube.