death of a toothpaste tube

(There are some sincere thank-you's that I want to offer to you all. But first, to show just how low our threshold of hysteria, I present to you our photo essay of a bathroom implement...)

When I opened my overnight bag in the IHOP parking lot near the Boise Airport on Friday morning (looking for some nail clippers for Chip and some lotion for me), the only thing I saw was blue. Sparkly blue. On my overnight bag. In my overnight bag. On my make-up bag. In my make-up bag.

Stupid toothpaste.

Let me tell you about this tube of toothpaste. It has a problem. A lack of control, if you will. A bladder problem. Or a regurgitating problem. However you'd like to think of it - up and out or down and through. It doesn't matter. It tends to throw up sparkly blue goo whenever (and wherever) it wants. On the bathroom counter (left on its side for a little bit too long). On my hairbrush (again, on the side, too long). And now, in my overnight bag.

As soon as I got back in the car (toothpaste tube in hand) I told Chip that we needed to put it out of its misery. Dispose of it. Rid our lives of the barfy blue toothpaste tube.

We rode across Idaho trying to think of a fitting end.

Some possibilities included:

Death by tire.

Death by avalanche.

Death by Toddler.

Or even death by short perky dog.

With snorffling.

But ultimately, what seemed like the most fitting end, the most flattering end, the most humane end...

Death by firing squad.

But first...

A blindfold.

And then, the unthinkable happened. The poor incontenant toothpaste tube took matters into its own hands. Or tube (as it were).

And jumped to its own bitter end.

RIP, terrible toothpaste tube.