Yesterday I used my toothbrush to clean my husband’s mud-caked running shoes. I figured I would relegate this toothbrush to cleaning status, and simply go out and buy a new one. I needed one anyway. However it is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception holiday in Italy, and everything is closed. So I was faced with the decision to:
A. Not brush my teeth for a day and a half
B. Use my husband’s toothbrush
C. Use toothpaste on my index finger
I couldn’t really deal with option A, so I considered option B. I looked at his toothbrush sitting there on the side of the sink. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I kiss this man every day, it’s not that much different, right? But then I wondered about his treatment of his own toothbrush compared with mine. I hate my toothbrush to touch the sink, I always keep it in my make-up bag. Maybe he’s been in a hurry several mornings and didn’t rinsed it that well, or maybe he’s harboring a flu virus that hasn’t appeared yet. The more I looked at it the more it started to resemble a teeming petri dish in a science lab.
That was too much for me to overcome. I chose option C. I think sharing toothbrushes is like sharing stick deodorant. It can be done, but you probably shouldn’t.
The Daily Marriage 