Miss, why is the trashbag buzzing?

A funny story to share.....

In the interest of good dental hygiene, LittleG had collected quite a grouping of toothbrushes. My original motto was "if it's cute and I buy it for her, maybe she'll use it." For the record, I have since changed the motto to "pick up the damn thing and use it now."

Oh, but she had the best toothbrushes: A cute little blue one with a duck on it. And a purple one with Zack and Weezie (Dragon Tales). And about three or four random Disney Princess brushes. And some others - too many to name, all cluttering up my hall bathroom, in various states of God only knows what kind of decay.

I had had enough, one evening, of the clutter. And knowing what I knew about my then barely four year old, I decided that stealth was the best approach to removing said germ factories. So I began removing them, late at night, one at a time, for what seemed like weeks, and tossing them in the big trashcan in the garage. Because heaven only knows if she'd found them in the bathroom trash, she'd have moved them back into the rotation.

My evil plan was working perfectly, and LittleG was none the wiser. I had bought her a fancy new purple Barbie brush, and she was in love with it. One evening I slipped the final old toothbrush, the piece de resistance....the battery operated Barbie brush....from its place on the counter. I headed down the hallway towards the garage when something distracted me. Absentmindedly, I put it on the kitchen table. And then I promptly forgot about it.

Until morning time, when I swooped into the kitchen nanoseconds before LittleG, and spied the evil germcatcher on the table. Rather than fight the battle with LittleG, I swept the toothbrush off the table, smooshed it into the trashcan and covered it with the Cheetos bag from the night before. Don't judge me, people.

We were leaving to go out of town for a family adventure just as the maid arrived to do her thing. She's busy in the kitchen, we're busy in the bedrooms and getting the house ready to close out for a few days. Somehow, we find ourselves (me, LittleG, and MrG) in the garage with a very startled maid.

By this time, she's a little pale, and she's pointing with a trembling finger to the trashbag she's dropped on the floor. It's the one from the kitchen. And it is buzzing like there is no tomorrow. The Cheetos bag is flush up against the bristles of the toothbrush that are now spinning like crazy because somehow when she jostled the trashbag around, the switch on the toothbrush flipped on.

"Miss," she says, "why is the trashbag buzzing?" And I, of course, cannot reply, because to do so would be to uncover my deceit and brand me forever as a liar and a traitor to that sweet baby child who loves me so.

So I just smile and wave her off, leaving her thinking God only knows what of me and my vibrating trash bag......