Okay, I’m gonna tell you guys something that I can’t discuss with my husband, because it’s about him and I, locked in a 15-year war that luckily does not involve bloodshed.
It’s about toothpaste. No, not the old cover on, cover off thing, or even the one about squeezing the tube in the middle–that Waterloo’s been met by one of those tube-flattener, get-out-every-last-enth of toothpaste devices. But that squeezer thingie is what’s evolved into this ongoing battle of wills. Who will be the first one to use the new tube of toothpaste I put out there, which goodness knows, is off limits until the old one is most absolutely, positively done-fer. This involves unrolling the thingie off the tube before it can be tossed.
We never mention it. We just each, individually, go in and use it, all but twisting and compressing the toothpaste to get that very last brush-full out, then with an audible, “Aaah,” we replace the cap and leave it on the counter back in place.
Although this morning, I noticed a suspicious dent in the new tube. Hmmm. That’s not fair.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Isn’t this related to the “toilet paper” swap and “inch of koolaid” at the bottom of the container issue?
Sort of, but item #1 comes under “justifiable homicide”. At least at your house there are more people to blame. I just knew there was a reason I should have had children.