Married Life: Sharing Toothbrushes

While I was in the shower washing my hair, my man was brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink. He said, "Honey, if I accidentally used your toothbrush to brush my teeth, would you want me to tell you?"

Unable to see him and thinking that he must currently be using my toothbrush, I said, "Yes. Did you?" I figured I would just get a new toothbrush when I got out of the shower.

He sounded slightly sheepish when he answered. "Yes. Like a week and a half ago."

"WHAT? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I was never, ever going to tell you," he confessed. "I didn't realize until I had finished. I rinsed it really, really good. REALLY good! I think it was dark."

Meanwhile, I am laughing and gagging in the shower. "Gross!"

After I got out of the shower, I stood at the sink, staring at my fouled toothbrush. A moment of hesitation later, I grabbed it and began brushing. What the heck? There was no point in getting a new toothbrush after a week and a half.

Condom Curiosity

My man was in the shower and I was lingering in bed, unwilling to admit that it was time to wake up and face the day.  Max came into my room and climbed into bed with me.  He snuggled for a very brief time and then sat up and started bouncing around.  In the process of being a hooligan, he knocked my man's pillows onto the floor and discovered a surprise hidden underneath them, a condom in a shiny gold wrapper where I had stashed it for later use.

Max picked it up.  "What's this, Mommy?"

"Oh, it's something of Daddy's," I answered.

"But what is it?" he insisted.

With an internal snicker, I said, "You can go ask him if you want."  I was very interested to see how my man would explain a condom to our four-year-old.

I listened intently as Max entered the bathroom and asked, "What's this, Daddy?" as he held up the condom in its golden wrapper.

My man's answer was as vague as mine and disappointed my desire for entertainment.  "That's Mommy's and Daddy's.  Give it to me."

"Ok," said Max.

He handed the condom to his dad and went about his business.  I assumed that was the end of the potentially awkward issue.

Many hours later, we had put the boys to bed for the night.  I was downstairs working on a query letter and synopsis for my novel.  Max came downstairs and moseyed about.

"What are you doing out of bed, Max?" I asked.

"Nuffing," he answered.  He sauntered over to the kitchen counter.

"Do I need to spank your bottom?"

"No."  He reached up and pulled a pair of scissors out of the pencil holder on the counter top.

"Get back to bed."

"Ok," he started sidling toward the stairs with the scissors hidden behind his back.

Because I wasn't really paying attention as I worked, I suddenly realized he was trying to sneak scissors up the stairs.  Visions of crooked haircuts, shredded blankets, and stabbed brothers immediately accosted me.  "Wait a second!  Put those back!"

"Fine," he sighed and put the scissors back in their container.

"Get to bed!"

He went.  I continued working.  Later, my man joined me to watch a show on my computer.  We were sitting together on the couch when we heard evidence of a little boy out of bed again.

"It's your turn," I said as I paused the show.  We take turns investigating the after-bedtime shenanigans of our hoodlums.

My man went upstairs.  He was gone for some time.  When he returned he had a handful of condoms and he said, "Max emptied the entire box of condoms.  One of them was opened.  There are pieces of wrapper all over their bedroom.  I couldn't find them all."

Max had somehow managed to rip one of the condom wrappers open and thoroughly explored the contents before my man caught him and confiscated it.  Max was quite disappointed.

We told the story to my family the next day and my younger brother clarified for us why Max wanted the scissors for the condom.  "He was trying to poke a hole in it.  He wants a little brother!"