Brushing teeth in the dark

The electricity went out. My wife and I were in the bathroom getting ready for work. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Brushing my teeth,” I replied adding, “why?”
“Because you’re brushing my teeth, not yours.”
“Then you shouldn’t be standing so close to me.”
“Well, you’re closest to the window and it’s the only source of light, right?”
“Are you sure I’m brushing your teeth?”
“Yes, and I don’t like the toothpaste you use.”
“Oh damn,” I replied, “sorry about that. I was wondering why it was taking me so long to finish up. Would you like to gargle, or should I?”
“Well, I should because you didn’t brush your teeth.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth because I wasn’t quite sure of what my wife had said. She was right though. She was always right. Even in the instance of brushing teeth, she was right. “Ok,” I replied finally after unsuccessfully trying to find a way out of my situation. “Ok you gargle with the Listerine and then I’ll make sure I brush my teeth.”
“Wait a moment. Before you do,” she replied and I felt her hand pat my chest and then my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the glass of Listerine,” she replied.

“I haven’t poured it yet. Wait a minute and I’ll do that.” I put my toothbrush down and pulled the bottle of Listerine from under the sink. I poured a little into a glass and put the bottle back. I handed the glass to her. I hit her on the shoulder, “oops sorry,” I said as the liquid dripped down the front of her nightgown. “Let me pour some more,” and with that I opened the cabinet and took out the bottle.

“Wait!” she shouted. “Are you sure it was Listerine, because it doesn’t smell like Listerine. What else is under the sink?”
“Not sure,” I replied. “I don’t put anything else under there.”
“Yes, but I do.” I raised the bottle to my nose.

“Yes, you’re right. I think it’s glass plus. Thank goodness you didn’t drink that. You would’ve shone all day long.”
“No, maybe died. I don’t think it’s meant to be drunk.” I kneeled down and smelled every bottle before I decided the bottle of Listerine wasn’t under the sink.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Don’t you take it out before you brush your teeth?” Yes, she was right. She’s always right. I hate that about my wife. I stood up and ran my hand over the area surrounding the two sinks.

Yes, I found it, “oh dear, I just knocked it over. Sorry, no more Listerine, but I think we have another bottle in the closet.”
“No don’t worry about it. I’ll just rinse with water,” and with that she turned on the tap. I lifted the toothbrush and began brushing my teeth. I think I made a mistake.

“Do you have my toothpaste?” I asked my mouth bubbling over.

“Oh dear,” she replied, “I think I put it in the drawer,” she hesitated a minute, “what does your toothpaste feel like?”
“I don’t know. The feeling escapes me.”
“I think you’re brushing your teeth with scrubbing bubbles. I brought it up so I could use it in the shower after we were done.”
I quickly turned on the tap and rinsed my mouth well. The lights came back on. We both sighed with relief. “Oh dear,” she said, “your chest is bubbling.”
“Not as bad as your nightgown,” I replied, “it’s disintegrating.”
“You’re right,” she replied taking it off and throwing it into the shower. Now did she say I was right? Something must be changing because I’m never right, or at least my wife never thinks I’m right. “Are you showering first?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, “you are. Your nightgown is smouldering in there. You better hurry before the shower begins to melt.”
She turned the shower on and jumped in. She screamed. “The water is freezing!”

“Oh, sorry,” I replied, “I forgot to run the water first. What do you want me to do?” I asked expecting a stream of curse words. But none came. She was enjoying a cold shower. I was next.