Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Visiting the Flintstones

It is a small thing, a pink toothbrush. One of those My Little Princess Pony items with some sort of yellow and blue colors briefly embedded in the hot pink body as a badge of honor.  It called out from the sink, “I am cute. Take me!”

I wondered whether it was the thing to do: buy a child’s toothbrush to leave at your current whatever/boyfriend’s/lover’s house. Because it was in fact a grown woman who was using the pint sized piece of hygienic technology.  Later back home I googled the concept.  Maybe women are supposed to leave a girlie toothbrush around their boyfriend’s place because it says, “I am just passing through – when I get way older in two months – I will leave anyway – get a job – travel the world.” Or maybe it’s supposed to say “Playmate nothing more until we disagree on whether you get the green cup or I get the green cup.”  Non-threatening quibble and so forth.

Google showed me the complexities of the What the Toothbrush Means in today’s couple or non couple language.  A whole lot of anguish I observed scrolled by my ever widening eyes. Do all women leave hot pink Pony Princess toothbrushes at their lovers’ apartments? Apparently not, I couldn’t find the advice in any matter of solid form to leave a pink toothbrush at His Place, not even in Glamour Magazine.  I guess the decision is left up to the occasion.  But then, okay maybe I am obsessing here, if a woman leaves a Hot Wheels Firefly kiddo toothbrush does that mean more than a Pony Princess toothbrush? Or does that in some way represent her style of sexuality?

Toothpaste is seemingly not an issue. That is a silently agreed on shared commodity. Dullsville. However, the boyfriend could have provided Spiderman Colgate toothpaste, and played the game right.  He and She Things.

I don’t remember being excited about toothbrushes or toothpaste as a child (those are things you get excited about as an adult when you shell out 75 or whatever for a new electric one), but I loved those vitamin pills. You know the Flintstones ones. My grandmother bought them for me. I appreciated her care and thoughtfulness and they tasted like candy.  It blew my mind that someone would buy me fancy pills with the intention to keep me healthy and in the back of my mind I questioned whether I was as healthy as I was supposed to be as a child. Was I okay? How consequent was the goodness of the Flintstones? Would I be better? Should I act like the children in the commercials to make my grandmother happy, justify the expense? But maybe my grandmother bought them because she also took pills. Then we could take our morning pills together, the Wilmas and Freds.  Very cozy. It felt very grown up and important. 

I looked at the pink toothbrush and wanted to check in the cupboards to see if someone had bought the highly dyed sugar laden vitamin pills as well. Out of curiosity. But I didn’t. 

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