Mama and the Toothbrush

My MIL used to have a toothbrush.

Well, okay, she still has a toothbrush. But she used to have a special, fancy electric one. Sonic-something-something. You know the ones I mean? One that whiiiiiiiiirred and needed batteries.

And BOY did that thing need batteries. Once a week, if not MORE often, we needed to replace the batteries.

Now, Mama loved the thing. LOVED it. Carried it with her wherever she went. Slept with the thing next to her bed. Wrapped it in toilet paper or tissue paper to "protect" it.

And we figured, well, she must be accidentally turning it on when she carries it in her pocketbook. She is using the thing to polish rocks. There must be some REASON why it ate bateries so.

Then, one day, we had a bad thing happen. Mama had, shall we say, a mishap. She was fine, some property was damaged, and we resolved to check in on her a bit more aggressively.

So one night, when my husband still worked nights, I checked on her in her room. I heard a strange noise, and was puzzled by it.

"Mama, do you hear that noise?"

"Noooo," said Mama, snuggled in her bed, covers up to her chin with only her face showing.

I still heard a noise.

In fact it was a whiiiiiiiiirr.

"Mama, are you sure you don't hear a noise?"

"Noooooo," she said again, and then thought about it.

"Wait! I think it's THIS!" she cried...

...and threw back her covers to reveal her electric toothbrush nestled between her thighs.

Um.

Um.

"Do you want to borrow it Nica? It feels good!"

Um.

Um.

Yeah, so Mama doesn't have an electric toothbrush anymore. (H couldn't handle it).