buzz & roses

It's true, I've been a bit depressed over the past week. I haven't been updating, really; I wrote a couple of entries and then never put them up, and I redesigned my entire web site in an attempt to avoid anything remotely resembling responsibility towards the writing portion of the journal.

But that's all changed. The Guy has bought an electric toothbrush.

We is cool, yo.

First of all, the toothbrush has three detachable heads, one for him, one for me, and one for the invisible people who live inside my ears. Each of the heads is color-coded. He got blue, because he's a boy. I got yellow because I'm a canary. The invisible people got dark blue, because they apparently have more testosterone than either of us. Each of the little heads is round, like an orange, except flat, like the world. It rotates on a little axis, really fast -- buzz buzz buzz -- and when you press it against your teeth, your entire head starts to vibrate. The bones in your nose, (I bet you didn't know you had bones in your nose, did you? Those are the things that your nose hairs are attached to), start to vibrate as well, and that makes you want to sneeze.

It's waterproof, so you can brush your teeth underwater if you wanted to. It's a two-speed, with an upper speed of 50 miles an hour, and a lower speed of 20. They know this because they chained tiny men to the bristles and made run around very very fast with pedometers clipped to their belts. Also, after charging it for sixteen hours, it stays charged until it's not charged anymore. That, I think, is the neatest feature of all.

This is the coolest gadget. The Guy is so in love with it, he actually brushes his teeth, which just goes to show you just how cool it is, because apparently dental care is something that the British normally reject as one of those too-American-to-be-classy things, kind of the same way the French abjure bathing. In fact, the Guy is thinking of buying another one so that he can carry it around with him, and all I have to say to that is go for it. Another neat feature of the Magical Vibrating Toothbrush is that it comes with its own carrying case, so that when you pop it in your backpack and go to, say, church, it won't accidentally bump into some harmless corner in your bag and start vibrating loudly to embarrass you in front of all of your celibate priest friends with dirty minds.

On second thought, I don't see how a waterproof toothbrush is really all that cool. I mean, what would they do with one that wasn't waterproof? There's a lousy marketing idea. It'd be like cigarettes; you'd have to depend on faulty birth control to constantly replenish your customer base. Can you imagine the warning labels on the packages? "Attention: Please remove toothbrush fully from mouth before rinsing with liquid substances." Or better yet, "Warning. Please do not salivate while brushing."

I wrote that pretty well, actually. Maybe I have a career in writing warning labels on merchandise.

"Warning: Toothpick is not meant for use in eye."

So, Monday at work, everybody in my team came in to work to find a little bud vase with two yellow roses on his or her desk. There was no card, no message, nothing: just two yellow roses. This was -- is -- the big mystery of the week.

It instantly drove everybody else in my group absolutely nuts. No, I take that back. Half the team was curious; the other half went insane. Especially the Indians. If the roses hadn't cheered me up, the subsequent lunacy on the part of my coworkers would have. They speculated for hours on Monday, and hours on Tuesday; every time someone new came into the office that morning, they would sit up in their cubes, ears pricked, waiting for a sound of surprise at the sight of the roses. Then they would hurtle around their cubes towards the newcomer and ruthlessly interrogate him or her.

One by one, the list of possible culprits narrowed. With the exception of Slushpuppy, (who was in Southern California), everybody on the team denied responsibility. "It must be the Project Coordinator," my team decided.

"I bet you're right," I said, agreeably. "You should go ask her."

They all trooped off to ask her.

"It must be the other manager," my team decided, thwarted by the Project Coordinator's disavowal of knowledge.

"I bet you're right," I said, agreeably. "You should go ask him."

They all trooped off to ask him.

"It must be Slushpuppy," my team decided, after the other manager proclaimed innocence.

"I bet you're right," I said, agreeably. "He could have done it before he left for Southern California."

Slushpuppy called later on in the day, and declared his ignorance. "Yellow roses? On all our desks? Even mine? And College Boy's? Are you sure they're not red?"

"Maybe it was Vak," I said, helpfully.

They trooped off to ask her.

"Maybe it was the Project Manager?" I suggested.

They trooped off to ask her.

At the end of the day, every possible avenue had been closed, and my team was back to where they had started, randomly accusing each other. I popped to one quiver or another, hugely entertained.

Indian Woman (the Second) came around to my desk before she left for the day. "I think it was She Who Will Be Obeyed," she told me, confidentially. "She was here early for orientation. She could have done it before she went."

"She said she didn't do it," I pointed out, interested. "Do you think she's lying?"

Indian Woman (the Second) stared at me blankly, shook off the thought, and plowed on stubbornly. "I think she did it," she declared.

"You're probably right. She was in early. And she has a garden. She'll probably confess tomorrow," I agreed.

Satisfied, Indian Woman (the Second) went home.

Indian Mom came around to my desk before she left for the day. "I think it was Indian Woman (the Second)," she told me, confidentially. "She was here first in the morning. She could have done it before we got here."

"She said she didn't do it," I pointed out, helpfully. "Do you think she's lying?"

Indian Mom stared at me blankly, shook off the thought, and plowed on stubbornly. "I think she did it," she declared.

"You're probably right," I agreed. "She was in first."

Satisfied, Indian Mom went home.

Nobody confessed the next day. Or the day after that. Now it's Thursday, and still nobody knows. On Tuesday night, Indian Mom started yelling at one of her roses, which had bloomed its quota and was starting to droop. "You can't die! You have to tell me who gave you to me!"

"Maybe we could do some DNA testing," She Who Will Be Obeyed said, thoughtfully.

"Did you do the flowers?" demanded Indian Woman (the Second).

She Who Will Be Obeyed laughed. "It wasn't me. Maybe I should take credit for it, and the real person will get mad and say, 'no way, it was me!'"

"That's a good idea," I said, encouragingly. "You should do that."

Nobody's stepped forward yet.

"Aren't you curious to know who did it?" they asked me, yesterday.

I shrugged. "Nah. You guys are funnier. What can I say, I'm easily amused. Give me a piece of string and I'll be entertained for hours."

"You're a mean person," accuses Heisenberg.

Remember what I said in my last entry? Well, here's a nice link... Posted by yhirata at September 20, 2001 12:20 AM