I’m sick of it.
I really am.
I am sick of living in a male patriarchal society where I have to hide my feelings.
I am sick of acting aloof and too cool for school.
I have feelings too.
And I want to admit them.
I loved my old tooth brush!
I LOVE my old tooth brush.
And I don’t care what any of you say.
From the moment I first laid eyes on it…
The way that the blue and white colours blended so perfectly.
It reminded me of rapids in a clear Colorado river. Or of billowy clouds in a blue sky above a Kansas wheat field.
It took one back to a time before global warming. Before acid rain. Before pollution. Before Jennifer Lopez put a clusterfucking on an episode of “American Idol.”
It was a simpler time, my friends.
And the way it fit in my hand…
You just know when something is right.
And it would still be feeling right in my hand now, if the Neo-Fascists at the Canadian Dental Association hadn’t decided that we have to replace tooth brushes every three months.
So, I had to throw my beloved tooth brush away. I was going to set it free in the wilderness from whence it came, but I couldn’t bare the thought of someday seeing some homeless dude cleaning his dog’s ears with it.
Instead I tossed it in the garbage. And now it is… wherever the dudes in the truck take garbage.
Obviously I had to buy a replacement.
I knew from the moment that I took it out of it’s package that this monochromatic piece of crap would never satisfy me.
The bristles were too hard and it felt awkward in my hand.
It is clearly a rebound toothbrush. There is no chance of it becoming any more than that.
It is “Saved by the Bell: The College Years” to the old brush’s “Saved by the Bell.”
And in three months we’ll have to go through this charade again.
Hopefully I’ll be stronger.
Anton Chekhov once said, “Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be.”
I love who I was with my old toothbrush.
Now I have to go brush with it’s replacement…
And die a little inside.