The lads come to me at bedtime. "Where's the big toothpaste?" the Brawn asks. The Boy helpfully adds, "yeah!"
"It's not in the bathroom?" I ask stupidly. They look at me in bafflement, apparently perplexed by my logical logic.
"...no," the Brawn says slowly. Although still only 6 years old, he seems a bit worried that I might have hit my head recently.
Which is when an image suddenly flashes before my eyes. It's of my college student daughter packing up a few last things just before hopping into the car and heading to the train station to return to school after Thanksgiving. And I dimly recall thinking at the time, as I see a virtually brand new tube of toothpaste in her hand, huh...that's weird. Why'd she bring her own toothpaste home from college?
There's no real point to this post for the few dozen dozen people who're likely to read it.
Except, of course, for one particular reader.
That's right, Max.
I KNOW IT WAS YOU.
And, yes. Your father is toothpaste-shaming you.
Deal with it. And don't forget to floss. (See you in a few weeks.)