A Little Horror Story

By Jen Piwtpitt - 9:04 AM

Once upon a time in a house in the town that Spring forgot, there lived a woman who liked to brush her teeth. In that same house lived a little girl who liked to explore the contents of the bathroom where the woman liked to brush her teeth.

One late night the exhausted woman went to brush her teeth. About half way through the process (or a good minute or so of vigorous brushing,) she realized that the toothbrush head just didn't feel right. It was sort of soft...and mushy. She pulled it out of her mouth and realized with much distaste, that this was not, in fact, her toothbrush head. It had a pink ring rather then the blue ringed head she had just replaced her old head with.

"Hmmm...", thought the exhausted woman, "that little stinker daughter of mine brushed her teeth up here and left her brush-head on my toothbrush. Grrr...gross!!" She irritably replaced the pink head she'd been using with the correct head, and resolved to lecture her daughter about not touching anything of mommy's in the bathroom anymore, and definitely not to use her toothbrush if she could not remember to put the right head back on.

(You may or may not know, that the woman is particularly skittish over the issue of toothbrush hygiene).

Then, like all good mothers do, she forgot about it.

A few days later, the woman noticed that the pink toothbrush head had not moved from the basket on the counter where she had left it. "Oh my word!", thought the horrified woman, either my dear, yet apparently disgusting daughter has not brushed her teeth at all for several days, or she has been using someone else's toothbrush to do so. Either way, grrrr..yuck! "And the disgruntled woman made a mental note to lecture her delightful daughter about using her own toothbrush and/ or brushing her teeth with it on a regular basis.

Later that day, the woman brought up the issue with her daughter, "why were you using my toothbrush base and what have you been using to brush your teeth since then- with your pink toothbrush head still in my bathroom?" she demanded indignantly.

"Oh no mommy", said her wide eyed, golden haired child, smiling proudly, "that wasn't mytoothbrush, I found that pink head and put it on your toothbrush for you, because I know that pink is the colour you use".

With a burgeoning fear gathering in her heart, and a sinking feeling churning in her stomach, the woman weakly asked,

"where did you find that pink head?"

"Under the sink!" said the sweet daughter, in a spritely manner, "Mommy?Mommy?...what's the matter?"

The woman stared unseeingly into the distance, a scene was playing out in her head. A scene that involved her thinking, "Oh look! Instead of tossing it, I will recycle this old toothbrush head and use it to get into all the nasty little crevices on the toilet seat! I will give all those crevices a good scrubbing! Maybe the base of the toilet too! Yes! This toothbrush will be just the thing for that." The scene ended with the woman industriously carrying out her plan, and then rinsing the toothbrush head, (but not bleaching it..because it was only going back into the toilet again).. and storing it neatly......

under the sink.

The woman in the town which Spring forgot has been involuntarily gagging ever since. No plague has developed as yet. Her husband continues to kiss her. Because he is a good man. A very good man.

And what of the daughter? I don't think she will be helping out in this way again any time soon. At least this is my fervent hope. Children in my bathroom inevitably mean pain and despair for me. Remember "Making Magic" in my contact lens case? Ahhhh....the misty eyed memories...

This was originally published on Momedy SketchKirsty Sayer is a South African mom of five. One toddler, one teen and three in between. She lives in Ohio now, reluctantly. Between observing the growth of her laundry pile and being a personal trainer, she blogs about being a mom at MomedySketch.com. She believes in laughing a lot. Because when you are a mom, if you don't laugh, you'll cry. And nobody likes a crybaby. 

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