Just Buy a Second Damn Tube of Toothpaste
Don't allow little sources of friction to burn out a relationship
My wife was a toothpaste tube manhandler. I mean she mangled them. She was a small woman, but she squeezed the bajeebus out of a tube of Crest. Which was ironic, because thanks to her tube torture technique, she never managed to extract the last of the toothpaste. She didn’t particularly care. One hundred percent toothpaste tube completion was not among her priorities.
I treat my Crest very differently. I begin at the crimped end and methodically work my way toward the opening. By the time I am finished with the tube, I can be confident that there’s nary a speck of toothpaste remaining inside. This, as far as I am concerned, is The Only Correct Way.
Young Sadie and Brent first moved in together in the summer of 2001. Our apartment was small and simple, but it was a fine first apartment. And besides, it was mere blocks from our university which, among other benefits, saved us hundreds of dollars on parking.
We were unmarried. Yes, we each had (and used!) our own bedrooms, but we lived under the same roof. Sadie had worn my promise ring on her ringer for four years by that point, but that didn’t change the fact that we were living in sin. Still, that was not the gravest evil in that apartment. Sadie and I shared the apartment’s single, tiny bathroom and its single, tiny medicine cabinet, so we shared toothpaste as well.
I quickly discovered that I lived with a monster.
At first I denied it. Surely my lovely, gentle Sadie wasn’t responsible for the twisted multilation of the toothpaste tube. Perhaps she dropped it. And stepped on it. And … ran over it with a truck. Twice each day I fixed the tube as best I could, smoothing it out, flattening it from the crimped end.
Denial didn’t last long. I talked to Sadie about it. “Why do you mutilate the toothpaste tube?”, I asked her. “Do you realize how much toothpaste you’re leaving behind?” “Would you please do it my way?”
Nothing changed. I grew frustrated. Angry, even. Every morning and every evening my mood soured when I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The toothpaste tube — a stupid tube of toothpaste! — became a source of tension in our relationship. I grew rather petty about it. I was rather skilled in the art of passive aggression and I put those skills to use. I am not proud of myself.
I realize now that Sadie wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt me. She kept doing what she was doing for two reasons. First, she didn’t understand how much the toothpaste situation bothered me. I didn’t convey my feelings well, often relying on humor or sarcasm when talking about it. Second, I was all in a tizzy over a stupid. tube. of toothpaste. Who the hell cares that much about toothpaste? No sane person can be expected to understand that somebody could get so worked up over such a trivial toiletry matter.
Fortunately, I came across a bit of wisdom that, in retrospect, is totally obvious, but which at the time seemed revelatory. That wisdom? Each of us could have our own tube of toothpaste. Toothpaste is cheap, and it’s all going to get used at some point so there is no waste. Sadie could squeeze her way, I could squeeze mine. Problem solved.
You might argue otherwise. “But Mr. Wilson, you’ve merely avoided the problem! You’ve not solved anything!” I disagree. Sadie and I assigned vastly different levels of importance to an objectively trivial issue. Resolving the matter via discussion, compromise, or other therapeutic strategies was not worth the emotional capital those approaches would have required. Besides, I’m not convinced we could have resolved the matter any other way. A new tube of toothpaste was quick, cheap, and effective. That’s the definition of a wonderful solution.
Relationships, be they with partners, children, friends, co-workers, or otherwise, develop toothpaste tube-like troubles periodically. When you sense consistent friction over something insignificant, rather than getting heated, ask yourself if you should just buy yourself your own tube of toothpaste.