It feels good when the tube is full, and you can squeeze it liberally, extruding minty, refreshing gel onto the bristles.

You then apply it to your teeth and gums, moving the gel back and forth, scrubbing, brushing, scraping the paste across, under, and around your teeth then massaging your gums.

The act feels good. The process rejuvenates, reinvigorates, stimulates, satisfies, and also importantly, cleanses and protects against decay.

Over time, it becomes more difficult to squeeze paste from the tube. You first have to be mindful to not press from the middle, then must push from the bottom, easing the gel forward. Then you find you resort to rolling the casing, until it becomes a plastic version of the vacated snail shell you marveled at when, at age six, you discovered it lying on the beach.  When rolling produces no more paste, you resort to twisting, then mashing the plastic up towards the opening.

You use a toothpick, to extract the last remnants from the tube, which barely tint the bristles a pale aquamarine.

You know that rot and erosion will come next without the magical gel to ease the unceasing presence of bacteria and decay.

With sadness, you unravel the only tube you’ve been given of this precious gel, and read the label.

LOVE.

Humbly yours,

J