Some things aren’t meant to be shared

Maybe it’s because I was born the oldest of five.

As the oldest of five, you learn to protect your stuff – at least, the stuff you really care about.

And it’s not that I’m selfish. About most things, I can share with the best of them.

But some things are mine and mine alone. One is my toothbrush.

So a few weeks ago, we’re in a hotel while attending a wedding. My daughter the bridesmaid realizes she has forgotten her toothbrush. She wants to know if she can “borrow” mine.

To me, the words “borrow” and “toothbrush” do not go together. Once you lend it, the loan is irrevocable.

I would give her the shirt off my back. But there is no way I’m letting her or anyone else use my toothbrush. The very concept disgusts me, and I tell her that.

“Why?” she asks. “You gave birth to me.”

“Yeah,” I retort, “but I didn’t lick you clean.”

Now, when in hotels, I keep my toothbrush tucked away anyway. I’ve been doing that since I heard a story a few years ago about some families who went to Mexico for spring break. As the story goes, when they got back home to the U.S., they got their film developed and found pictures on their cameras of the cleaning staff doing unmentionable things with their toothbrushes. It’s probably an urban legend, but no matter. It will never happen to me.

In lieu of letting her use my own toothbrush, I have one of those freebie toothbrushes hotel front desks give you when you forget yours. I’d only used it once, years ago, and offer it to her. It’s a little ratty, as happens to things in your cosmetic bag that you have not removed in years, but far preferable to the alternative, I think. She accepts it, grudgingly.

Fast forward two weeks. She comes to spend a few nights with me in Kalamazoo. I’m working during the day, but in the evening, we go to dinner and then watch videos.

On the second night, we’re just coming from dinner and are pulling into the video store parking lot when she blurts out, “Uh, I need to buy a toothbrush.”

“You forgot yours again?” I ask.

“Yes,” she responds.

“Can’t you use the one I gave you a couple of weeks ago?” I ask, referring to the hotel freebie.

“That was gross,” she says, “I threw it out.Then she blurts out, “By the way, I used yours this morning.”And we both burst into uncontrollable laughter. I can hardly breathe, I’m laughing so hard.

Our next stop is the drugstore, where we both get new toothbrushes. Mine is where she’ll never find it again. Ever.

Hers? Just wait until she gets her film developed.

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