We Don’t Argue, We Spit

Last night while my husband and I were brushing our teeth, the topic of coloured pencils came up.  There is a proper name for these colourful, graceful beauties, but it was not a name that my husband and I could agree on.  If you have ever had a spirited discussion while trying to brush your teeth with an aggressively loud and cumbersome electric toothbrush, you will know that the entire experience is as wild as it is exhilarating.  Add to that the fact that my husband and I are both embarrassingly stubborn, and you have yourself party!

Not only could we not hear each other over the incessant buzzing, brushing and running water, but we had to dodge spit, toothpaste splatter, and wildly gesturing hands that made no more sense than our mumbled, frothy words.  It was like an out of control sporting event where rioting fans stormed the field and tried to cause as much shit as they could before finally being hauled away by security.

I promise you though, as insane as this sounds, it’s moments like this that bring my husband and I closer together.  Eventually.  But only after the spitting and hysterics die down.  Then we go back to behaving like the mature and responsible adults that the rest of the world thinks we are, and we wonder why we were ever disagreeing in the first place.

(For the record though, it’s “Pencil Crayons”.  So, I win.).