Say you wake up Monday morning and realize you forgot to set your alarm clock. Now not only did you miss out on some quality snoozetime, but you’re late for work to boot. You jump out of bed, jump on the toilet, jump in the shower, jump into some clothes, and run to the bathroom to brush your teeth before running out the door.
But then you see it.
That thin, rolled-up toothpaste tube laying completely empty on your counter, the life completely squeezed out of it over the past few weeks. Your jaw drops and your memory flies back…
… you vividly recall making the first soft dent in the tube’s cylindrical purity, back when the paste was flowing like water, just waiting to come out. It seemed like it would never end. Over the next few weeks, there were some great moments, like:
- The time you forgot to put the lid on and had to squeeze real hard through a tiny pinprick hole in the center of the congealed toothpaste wall the next day.
- The first time you had to roll it up, coiling the thick, once-mighty toothpaste anaconda into a tightly wound fraction of itself. This was foreshadowing, but still — the paste kept flowing and you thought nothing of it.
- The time you thought you actually were out of toothpaste, but you managed to unroll it and slide it real hard across the edge of your bathroom counter, completely coaxing all the minty green molecules up to the front door.
You smile slightly at the foggy memories of those better days, before your brain quickly jerks you forward to the present.
Which is right now. When you’re late for work.
You stare into your empty tube of toothpaste, you glance quickly at your watch, and you decide to just go for it, one last time.
You grab your brush, grit your teeth, and squeeze your thumb and forefinger together as hard as you can, right on the head of the toothpaste tube. You squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, your thumb pounding, your brow pulsing, your brush pleading…
… until it finally comes: that very last, very weak, very small little dot of toothpaste, just peeking its head out the front door of the tube, just in time for you to swipe at it with your toothbrush, swab it around your mouth, and spit it out.
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