Warning: Shameful admission to follow.

So, last night? Getting ready for bed? I accidentally used Dane’s toothbrush.

It was almost brand-new, and it’s neon yellow, and I think it must have been calling to my subconscious, because I picked the thing up and brushed like three swipes before I even noticed it wasn’t mine. And then I spit out all the toothpaste, washed the brush, washed out my mouth, and started all over again with my own toothbrush. Not so much because I care about the germs or whatever, but because I felt just a wee little bit guilty.

So I sort of dried his toothbrush and put it back in the medicine cabinet, and then while I was waiting for him to brush his teeth I prepared a little speech about how, you know, we don’t need to be petty about someone else mistakenly—and occasionally! very occasionally!—using our toothbrush (and I was not going to mention anything about anyone else accidentally using MY toothbrush every day for weeks on end, because it’s not healthy to keep score).

But he just brushed his teeth and smiled at me and said goodnight. Possibly he didn’t notice. Possibly he still has no idea. (Well, except NOW he does, seeing as this here blog isn’t exactly unknown to him.) Or possibly he’s just a better person than I am and doesn’t so much worry about little things like toothbrush use.

I am properly ashamed. And now I’m going to open a new toothbrush for myself, because don’t you think I deserve a clean shiny toothbrush after all that?

I thought so.