I stabbed myself the other day. In my eye. With a toothbrush. Obviously it wasn't fatal--here I am telling you about it--but REALLY?! Who DOES that?! Me.
Let me start by telling you about the perpetrator. No, I am not the perpetrator--my TOOTHBRUSH is the perpetrator. When I turned thirty-nine LAST year (I am REALLY trying to embrace this forty thing...), my husband gave me a motorized (?) toothbrush. You know--like a Sonic Care only the Oral B version. I have wanted one of these for YEARS, so I was quite thrilled when I got this present. The arduous task of having to move a toothbrush over every single tooth was quite frankly too much for me--I could hurt myself. Also, I do not like my toothbrush being out in the open air. I am REALLY funny and weird about my toothbrush. And my food. And my beverages. Okay, I am pretty much "funny" about most things, however I seem to be completely content with living in the filth that is my home...but let's discuss the toothbrush issue. I don't know where it comes from. Maybe it's because some rugby players peed on some of my roommates toothbrushes during a party we had in college (ANIMALS I tell you!) or it may be because I learned in one of my science classes in high school (oh my goodness--I just realized while typing this that I actually LEARNED something in one of my science classes in high school...here I thought that I was only concerned with the cute boy in the third row and the fact that my hair looked like I was the result of Paulie Shore and Kramer from Seinfeld procreating...yay me!) that when you flush the toilet some amount of the urine goes into the air and hits the brush. Sorry--I should have warned you that I was going there. I should be more cognizant of the fact that SOME people are uncomfortable with discussions about bodily fluids, especially when there is mention of them in a mouth or on a toothbrush. I also should look up the exact fact about the whole flushing thing and quote it for you. Remind me if I forget.
So my toothbrush--one of the reasons I like it so much is because of the fact that I could remove the brush and put it in a case (that ends up full of toothpaste spit and tiny hairs from my husband's failed attempts of shaving just enough to make it look like he shaved yesterday. he likes the sexy scruff look--you know--the look that you see on someone like Johnny Depp and think, "That is HOT!" forgetting that the last time you made out with someone who actually HAD the sexy scruff you ended up with scruff-burn on your face that you insisted (to your classroom of eighth graders...hypothetically...) was from an overgrown pimple ('cause THAT'S better!), but married the hottie anyway thinking that he would CERTAINLY take care of the scruff problem if you stop the make-out sessions for long enough, but then you realize that the scruff thing is hot enough to make you forget that you are not going to make out with him and suddenly you have three children and no more make out sessions anyway because the thought of ANY extra pain or anything that is going to add to the downfall of your fading looks is NOT okay with you...
Whew...toothbrush case...so it is (in theory) protected by this case, which is great. The fact that I used the first brush for just over a year is only slightly disconcerting (and only slightly counterproductive to the whole "I'm funny about my toothbrush" thing), but I finally decided it was time for brush head number one to retire. I opened the package of three new brush heads (AFTER I threw out the old brush head) and found that they did not fit my brush. Well, they fit...I just needed to MAKE them fit...I was NOT digging through the garbage for the other one. Lucky for me it was not too hard to make them fit--AND they still work. In that they still move around the way they are supposed to when the "on" button is pushed. NOT in the way that they are easy to put the brush on and take it off again--that is a big pain, but I continue to do it several times each day every time getting aggravated and wondering why I don't just throw them in the garbage and get a brush head that fits or at the very least, keep the head ON the brush until I get one that fits. THAT would make too much sense, don't you think? PLUS I wouldn't have great story-starters like the one where I stabbed myself. In the eye. With a toothbrush.
So now that you know the back story (and eleven OTHER back stories that mean nothing to you), I can bring you into the bathroom with me on the morning of the attack. I know--after spending time with me you have decided that you NEVER want to go into the bathroom with me (and some of you knew that even before we met, though you may want to work on your whole judging before knowing thing...just sayin'...), but if you EVER want this story to end, I suggest that we bring it back to the bathroom--SOON.
So after exerting just enough energy to push the rapidly spinning brush around my mouth (while swaying back and forth because of the remnants of anesthesia mixed with Vicadin) and spitting for the last time, I turned off the brush and pulled, lowering my left arm and slightly raising my right. Here's where it gets tricky. Tricky because it is the best and worst part of the story--best for you, worst for me. Best for you because it is flippin' hilarious, though I do not know how to write it so that it reaches the maximum laughter potential (that's a thing, even though it doesn't make sense...), but here goes. While I pulled with all of the strength that I could muster (which isn't much--I have gotten so much weaker in this last year since I don't have to brush tiny circles on my teeth anymore) and immediately slammed into my stitches which prompted me to immediately raise my hand to my head (or...EYE...) as I screamed the obscenities (which were more like gargled animal squeals. Again...a thing...) "MotheryaaaaaghhawwwwshifucaaaayyyyedammaohAGGGGHHHH!" Or something like that. Because immediately following the pain in my stitches came the sharp pain in my eye. Or the skin just UNDER the eye which is in fact EXTREMELY lucky because if that metal pointed tip of my trusted Oral B got me in the eye, I am pretty sure that it would still be there.
Nothing but good times around here. When is the last time YOU stabbed yourself? In the eye? With a toothbrush?
*Just a side note--I found this little bit of information from WebMD:
Always flush with the lid down.
According to Charles Gerba, PhD, a professor of microbiology at University of Arizona in Tucson, flushing the toilet with the lid up is not wise. "Polluted water vapor erupts out of the flushing toilet bowl and it can take several hours for these particles to finally settle -- not to mention where," he says. "If you have your toothbrush too close to the toilet, you are brushing your teeth with what's in your toilet."
Who knew, right?! You are WELCOME.
Let me start by telling you about the perpetrator. No, I am not the perpetrator--my TOOTHBRUSH is the perpetrator. When I turned thirty-nine LAST year (I am REALLY trying to embrace this forty thing...), my husband gave me a motorized (?) toothbrush. You know--like a Sonic Care only the Oral B version. I have wanted one of these for YEARS, so I was quite thrilled when I got this present. The arduous task of having to move a toothbrush over every single tooth was quite frankly too much for me--I could hurt myself. Also, I do not like my toothbrush being out in the open air. I am REALLY funny and weird about my toothbrush. And my food. And my beverages. Okay, I am pretty much "funny" about most things, however I seem to be completely content with living in the filth that is my home...but let's discuss the toothbrush issue. I don't know where it comes from. Maybe it's because some rugby players peed on some of my roommates toothbrushes during a party we had in college (ANIMALS I tell you!) or it may be because I learned in one of my science classes in high school (oh my goodness--I just realized while typing this that I actually LEARNED something in one of my science classes in high school...here I thought that I was only concerned with the cute boy in the third row and the fact that my hair looked like I was the result of Paulie Shore and Kramer from Seinfeld procreating...yay me!) that when you flush the toilet some amount of the urine goes into the air and hits the brush. Sorry--I should have warned you that I was going there. I should be more cognizant of the fact that SOME people are uncomfortable with discussions about bodily fluids, especially when there is mention of them in a mouth or on a toothbrush. I also should look up the exact fact about the whole flushing thing and quote it for you. Remind me if I forget.
So my toothbrush--one of the reasons I like it so much is because of the fact that I could remove the brush and put it in a case (that ends up full of toothpaste spit and tiny hairs from my husband's failed attempts of shaving just enough to make it look like he shaved yesterday. he likes the sexy scruff look--you know--the look that you see on someone like Johnny Depp and think, "That is HOT!" forgetting that the last time you made out with someone who actually HAD the sexy scruff you ended up with scruff-burn on your face that you insisted (to your classroom of eighth graders...hypothetically...) was from an overgrown pimple ('cause THAT'S better!), but married the hottie anyway thinking that he would CERTAINLY take care of the scruff problem if you stop the make-out sessions for long enough, but then you realize that the scruff thing is hot enough to make you forget that you are not going to make out with him and suddenly you have three children and no more make out sessions anyway because the thought of ANY extra pain or anything that is going to add to the downfall of your fading looks is NOT okay with you...
Whew...toothbrush case...so it is (in theory) protected by this case, which is great. The fact that I used the first brush for just over a year is only slightly disconcerting (and only slightly counterproductive to the whole "I'm funny about my toothbrush" thing), but I finally decided it was time for brush head number one to retire. I opened the package of three new brush heads (AFTER I threw out the old brush head) and found that they did not fit my brush. Well, they fit...I just needed to MAKE them fit...I was NOT digging through the garbage for the other one. Lucky for me it was not too hard to make them fit--AND they still work. In that they still move around the way they are supposed to when the "on" button is pushed. NOT in the way that they are easy to put the brush on and take it off again--that is a big pain, but I continue to do it several times each day every time getting aggravated and wondering why I don't just throw them in the garbage and get a brush head that fits or at the very least, keep the head ON the brush until I get one that fits. THAT would make too much sense, don't you think? PLUS I wouldn't have great story-starters like the one where I stabbed myself. In the eye. With a toothbrush.
So now that you know the back story (and eleven OTHER back stories that mean nothing to you), I can bring you into the bathroom with me on the morning of the attack. I know--after spending time with me you have decided that you NEVER want to go into the bathroom with me (and some of you knew that even before we met, though you may want to work on your whole judging before knowing thing...just sayin'...), but if you EVER want this story to end, I suggest that we bring it back to the bathroom--SOON.
So after exerting just enough energy to push the rapidly spinning brush around my mouth (while swaying back and forth because of the remnants of anesthesia mixed with Vicadin) and spitting for the last time, I turned off the brush and pulled, lowering my left arm and slightly raising my right. Here's where it gets tricky. Tricky because it is the best and worst part of the story--best for you, worst for me. Best for you because it is flippin' hilarious, though I do not know how to write it so that it reaches the maximum laughter potential (that's a thing, even though it doesn't make sense...), but here goes. While I pulled with all of the strength that I could muster (which isn't much--I have gotten so much weaker in this last year since I don't have to brush tiny circles on my teeth anymore) and immediately slammed into my stitches which prompted me to immediately raise my hand to my head (or...EYE...) as I screamed the obscenities (which were more like gargled animal squeals. Again...a thing...) "MotheryaaaaaghhawwwwshifucaaaayyyyedammaohAGGGGHHHH!" Or something like that. Because immediately following the pain in my stitches came the sharp pain in my eye. Or the skin just UNDER the eye which is in fact EXTREMELY lucky because if that metal pointed tip of my trusted Oral B got me in the eye, I am pretty sure that it would still be there.
Nothing but good times around here. When is the last time YOU stabbed yourself? In the eye? With a toothbrush?
*Just a side note--I found this little bit of information from WebMD:
Always flush with the lid down.
According to Charles Gerba, PhD, a professor of microbiology at University of Arizona in Tucson, flushing the toilet with the lid up is not wise. "Polluted water vapor erupts out of the flushing toilet bowl and it can take several hours for these particles to finally settle -- not to mention where," he says. "If you have your toothbrush too close to the toilet, you are brushing your teeth with what's in your toilet."
Who knew, right?! You are WELCOME.
