The Toothpaste Talk

On Friday my wife sat me down. She had a look of cold fury (or at least utter seriousness) in her eyes. I had to wonder – what had I done?

“We need to talk. This cannot go on.” She began. My mouth went dry, and my heart felt like it was in my throat. What had I done?
“What’s the matter?” I asked. I tried to maintain my composure but inwardly I looked like this:

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“You’re squeezing from the middle again, and it’s really annoying!” My dread turned to confusion. Squeezing from the middle? Eh?

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“What do you mean my dear?” I replied.
“The toothpaste tube! You keep squeezing it from the middle! You’re leaving loads at the bottom and wasting it!”

I was contrite, for it was the truth. You see, I am an abuser of the toothpaste tube.

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Yes, I squeeze it too high. This produces an impressive eruption to begin with (quite a satisfying one too), but it inevitably causes problems later on. The tube ends up with inaccessible paste, and therefore is not fulfilling it’s life and destiny. I am denying the tube an honourable death!

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What have I become?!

“I’m so sorry!” I said. My tears tasted bitter – I had deprived them of the chance to taste minty by wasting so much paste. My wife, at first unmoved by my distress, began to crack. She had entered into this discussion to castigate me – but she could tell any punishment she meted out would be meaningless, for I would never stop punishing myself. Please people, look after your toothpaste!

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