The Case of the Mysteriously, Yet Temporarily, Disappearing Toothbrush
It was a dark and stormy night. The sort of night where things went amiss, askew or, even, awry (and, sometimes, all three). Yet, in the House of Cawthorne only one thing went amiss: a lone toothbrush.
Imagine, if you will, a bathroom, but not just any bathroom: my bathroom. Now imagine, if your wits allow it, a basin. Above that basin picture a mirror. On that mirror envisage, above the height of your head, a cup held fast by the power of suction, a cup containing scissors and an ageing pair of nail clippers. To the right of the very same basin allow your mind to display to you a plastic, lidded receptacle (inside which receptacle you may project what you will). To the left of the basin, perhaps most critically, there is a shiny metal cup, into which might be posited a surprising array of toothbrushes and, indeed, tubes of toothpaste. To further blind your mind's eye I would also beseech you to outline a carelessly abandoned bag of toiletries alongside which you might identify a plastic tray containing soaps and other items pertaining to personal hygiene and domestic comfort.
Why should this sight be held fast in your already dizzied imagination? Well, dear reader, press on for in words lies knowledge, and in knowledge lies understanding, and in understanding lies satisfaction, and in satisfaction lies - ok, let's move on....
It was, as you may care to remember, a dark and stormy night, but all was well in the House of Cawthorne - no spectres had been sighted, no strange howls heard in the darkness, and no ice cream had been found afflicted by the Blight of Melt (indeed, no ice cream had been found at all). As is customary on these ordinary nights I took upon myself to retire to my bed at the usual hour, passing through the bathroom initially in order that I might clean my teeth.
The reader should note at this point in our narrative that on this particular, specific, individual night I did not, as I might ordinarily do, pass through the bedroom, through the interior door and into the bathroom. Instead, on this night, I made the fateful decision to pass through the main passageway, through the exterior door and thence into the bathroom. As will you discover this alternation of route may come to have deep significance concerning the events that subsequently transpired. Or it might have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with what happened next. Only you can decide.
This is how matters progressed from this point on: I cleaned my teeth; I retired to bed; I slept (for approximately seven of our standard hours); I woke up; I had breakfast. It was only at this point that I reentered the bathroom (entering via which door I fail to remember) with a view to, once again, cleaning my teeth. Imagine my horror, indeed nothing less than my deep, bone-chilling terror, when I made the discovery that I am about to relate to you, right here, right now.
My toothbrush. Was. No. Longer. There.
What followed was a period of great alarm and discomfort in the House of Cawthorne, a time when it seemed that common household objects could go missing on a mere whim, when nothing might be safe anymore. We tore the bathroom asunder, in a very real and theoretical, mostly visual, sense. We, lacking a fine toothcomb, used a combinaton of our fingers and eyes to scour the bedroom in the hope that I had carelessly abandoned the toothbrush to an uncommon location, perhaps atop the chest of drawers. Even the toilet and laundry were subject to inspection, and neither was our only child regarded as being above suspicion.
My toothbrush. Was. Still. No. Longer. There.
For the rest of the day the mystery was the sole occupation of my mind (except for wondering when it might be appropriate to have a second coffee, or how much tweeting was too much tweeting, and if I had made the wrong choice of pants for the office). Myriad possibilities abruptly seemed the very height of logic. Perhaps a passer-by, with a pressing need to brush his or her teeth, had silently entered our premises, availed him or herself of my toothbrush and subsequently departed (ensuring to remedy any damage caused by their illegal break-in during process). Perhaps my toothbrush, having attained a higher level of consciousness than any mere human could hope to achieve, had transported itself to an alternative dimension: a dimension where the brush was supreme and humans were nothing more than beasts of burden for the Bristle Lords. Perhaps it had fallen down the back of the sink - this in spite of the very real fact that our sink is embedded within a cabinet which is itself securely fasted to the adjoining wall with nary a micromillitre betwixt the two. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...
Later that evening we again reviewed the situation:
My toothbrush. Was. Still. No. Longer. There.
My wife had valiantly embarked upon a solo hunt for the missing tool, had even voyaged to the store to purchase a brand new pair of toothbrushes, but still my toothbrush remained missing. It was a dark day in the House of Cawthorne, a day when not even the most innocuous household item appeared secure in its availability any more. Nevertheless, at times like this it serves no one to dwell upon the past hence I moved onwards and forwards and, as the evening pressed on, the time inevitably arrived upon which I would need to retire to my bed. Concomitantly the hour, nay even the minute, neared when I would have to enter the bathroom, mourn my missing toothbrush and betray those countless mornings and nights together by cracking open a new brush. In lachrymose mood I reflected on my missing friend - literally, in fact, for I was staring sombrely into the mirror. As one tends to do at such moments I cast my eyes to the heavens, or, in truth, to the bathroom ceiling. As I did so my sight grazed the cup fastened to the mirror containing scissors and an ageing pair of nail clippers. However, on this occasion the cup held one other item.
My toothbrush. Was. There.
Had my toothbrush devised a method of mental telepathy only for its capabilities to fall far short of its vision? Had an encounter with the red sun of Krypton granted it sufficient powers for a brief moment of flight? Had a schism in the space time continuum caused it to instantaneously shift in space and, possibly, time itself? Or had I simply put my toothbrush back in the wrong place the night before?
Why, these are mysteries, my friends, that we might never have the answers to. I bid you goodnight, and leave you with this reminder: watch your toothbrushes - yours could be next!
Chris March 24, 2010 - 20:55
You get this from your mother