It's mine, dammit

I walked in on Mark using my toothbrush.

Again.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What?"

"WITH MY TOOTHBRUSH!"

"Oh." He turned to the mirror and pulled it out of his mouth, inspecting it for a moment. "I didn’t realize." And then he stuck it back in his mouth to continue brushing.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged and suggested, "Just use mine."

"Son of a bitch!"

"What?"

"That’s MY toothbrush!"

"Yeah, and?"

"Son of a bitch!"

"What, so you’ll do all manor of sexual things to and with me, but we can’t share a toothbrush every once in a while?"

"I’m conflicted." I sat down heavy on the toilet to glare at him.

"Seriously?"

"Son of a bitch." I wondered if I could get a new toothbrush without waking the baby.

"It’s no big deal, just use mine."

"I’M CONFLICTED!"

"Here, watch." He took my toothbrush out of his mouth, ran the water over and over it, thumbing through the bristles for maximum water penetration. "See?" He applied a new line of toothpaste and handed it to me. "All better?"

"Son of a bitch."