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Adventures in Dental Hygiene Products
Jul. 13th, 2003 09:25 amIt's always interesting to see what the crisis du jour is going to be around here. Today, it was dental floss.
My dad-in-law couldn't find his floss this morning, which in this house generally means that one of the yard apes has absconded with it. Luckily, it was easy to narrow it down this time out, because Abbey had spent yesterday evening redecorating her face with Grandma's cosmetics collection. (It's a good thing she was trying for the zombie look, because that's what she ended up with.) In another stroke of luck, Abbey (a) admitted taking it, (b) actually remembered the exact spot she left it (the drawer of her TV stand), and (c) returned it willingly. Crisis averted.
Sort of. Because now, Abbey Didn't Have Any.
So she let us know this, in heartbreaking tones usually reserved for Shirley Temple flicks and public service announcements. I informed her that I had bought her some dental floss the last time she asked.
"But I don't know where it is."
I informed her that it was in our bathroom.
"But where is your bathroom?"
I scowled and pointed. She was standing right next to it.
"But somebody's in it!"
This was true: Kristi has been having a somewhat grumblesome morning, and at the moment she was trying to do something positive and creative by coloring her hair. But she hadn't started yet, and overheard the preceding exchange. She let Abbey in, searched the drawers and shelves, and eventually produced a small container of dental floss, untouched and complete.
Abbey met this with a harrumph. "But it's not mine."
I informed her that it, in fact, was hers, because I had bought it for her.
"No, it's not."
I informed her that yes, it is.
"NO, IT'S NOT!" She dashed to her bedroom. *SLAM* I know the sound well.
I turned to Kristi in the bathroom doorway, who met me with the sort of glare that can peel wallpaper. "Get out," she snarled. *SLAM*
I looked at the two freshly-slammed doors that concealed the women of my life, and began clomping downstairs, singing loudly as I went: "Can you feel the loooooove toniiiight?" A shout echoed from the bathroom: "No."
I love this house.
My dad-in-law couldn't find his floss this morning, which in this house generally means that one of the yard apes has absconded with it. Luckily, it was easy to narrow it down this time out, because Abbey had spent yesterday evening redecorating her face with Grandma's cosmetics collection. (It's a good thing she was trying for the zombie look, because that's what she ended up with.) In another stroke of luck, Abbey (a) admitted taking it, (b) actually remembered the exact spot she left it (the drawer of her TV stand), and (c) returned it willingly. Crisis averted.
Sort of. Because now, Abbey Didn't Have Any.
So she let us know this, in heartbreaking tones usually reserved for Shirley Temple flicks and public service announcements. I informed her that I had bought her some dental floss the last time she asked.
"But I don't know where it is."
I informed her that it was in our bathroom.
"But where is your bathroom?"
I scowled and pointed. She was standing right next to it.
"But somebody's in it!"
This was true: Kristi has been having a somewhat grumblesome morning, and at the moment she was trying to do something positive and creative by coloring her hair. But she hadn't started yet, and overheard the preceding exchange. She let Abbey in, searched the drawers and shelves, and eventually produced a small container of dental floss, untouched and complete.
Abbey met this with a harrumph. "But it's not mine."
I informed her that it, in fact, was hers, because I had bought it for her.
"No, it's not."
I informed her that yes, it is.
"NO, IT'S NOT!" She dashed to her bedroom. *SLAM* I know the sound well.
I turned to Kristi in the bathroom doorway, who met me with the sort of glare that can peel wallpaper. "Get out," she snarled. *SLAM*
I looked at the two freshly-slammed doors that concealed the women of my life, and began clomping downstairs, singing loudly as I went: "Can you feel the loooooove toniiiight?" A shout echoed from the bathroom: "No."
I love this house.
