They form a "v", the three of them, in the cylindrical, four-toothbrush holder. Leftmost, mine, is a jaunty little thing from Crest. Middlemost, the one Mom keeps here for nights over, is your run-of-the-mill but gets-the-job-done model from Colgate. They are both pink. I find this not confusing though, because mine is Crest and hers is Colgate—and Crest and Colgate are dissimilar in nearly every conceivable way...

Brenda's brush lords over the right side of the "v". It is blue. I don't know the brand, because I know the blue. I never reach for hers...because it isn't pink. I'm perceptive in ways that people only dream about. In the morning, I reach for the pink toothbrush not in the middle. Fairly simple. This is how I sum up my life, and it is good.

But 2006 is beginning in baleful foreboding. Brenda got a new toothbrush, and it is pink. I don't know how to go about addressing the problem. Her toothbrush is blue, not pink. How am I supposed to react around the pink? I feel as though I'm being disrespectful to the blue. Mostly, I cry tears of frustration in deciding which brush to use. There's the Colgate, the Crest, and the unknown brand...ALL PINK. Logic crawls into my ear, telling me, "Grab the pink toothbrush not in the middle." Oh, real funny, Logic....real knee-slapper...keep 'em coming...