Tom's Trojan Paste

I switched toothpastes when the conspiracy theories finally got to me.

Patty Lovarco, my seventh grade science teacher, was the first to warn me about the toxic effects of fluoride. Since then, I had done a bit of research, and searched my soul for an answer to the question: "Would my own government really do that to me?"

I didn't reach any conclusive answers to that question, but my teeth were strong and cavity-free, so I decided that it couldn't hurt to try fluoride-free toothpaste. I planned to note any changes in myself and adjust my opinions accordingly.

So I switched to all-natural, fluoride-free, peppermint toothpaste made by Tom's of Maine.

At first, I didn't notice any differences apart from the taste. Then a few nights into my experiment, as I put the loaded brush in my mouth, I heard a voice in my head.

"Hell-O."

I'm not used to hearing voices in my head, but for some reason I retained my composure.

"Who is this?" I replied calmly.

"Huh? It's Tom of course. Didn't you read my name on the tube?"

"I didn't realize toothpaste was a microphone," I answered coolly.

Tom scoffed. "You don’t even know the difference between a speaker and a microphone? Well, that's why I'm a toiletry tycoon and you're a mere writer. You shouldn't put something with someone's name on it in your mouth if you don't want to hear them, silly."

I spat out the toothpaste. As I ran the faucet to wash it down the drain, the white paste swirled into the shape of a skull, which slowly dissipated as the foam swirled down the drain.

"Dammit," I thought to myself. "I knew I should have bought Colgate. Who convinced me that fluoride is wrong anyway?"

The spitting had no effect. Tom's voice resounded in my head again.

"Colgate just whispers consumerist chants. I'm an activist for holistic health. Count yourself lucky."

I sighed.

"How did you come to be a toothpaste demon, Tom?"

He giggled. "Let's just say I took my oral fixation further than any man before me."

"What does that mean?" I replied.

Tom giggled again. "Trade secrets, my boy. Trade secrets."

I sighed again.

"Tom, this is crazy. I don't want you broadcasting into my head. It's nonconsensual. Get out." I demanded.

Tom giggled a third time, and said, "You think that's crazy? Try putting some of the toothpaste up your nose and see what happens."

"No thanks," I said.

I decided I needed to cleanse my head of this strange invader. I grabbed the Listerine off the counter and took the cap off.

The voice in my head cleared his throat.

"Ahem, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Tom said. "Liz is a much worse conversationalist than I am. And she always demands that people call her 'Your Highness'. It's quite tiresome actually."

I poured a bunch of Listerine in my mouth anyway and swished it around for two minutes.

After I spit it out, Tom taunted in a sing-song voice: "I'm still here, I'm still here."

My temper finally flared up. I growled with displeasure.

I stomped out of the bathroom and walked to the cabinet with my cleaning supplies. I rummaged around until I found a bottle of 91% isopropyl alcohol. I unscrewed the cap, poured it into my mouth, and swished until my cheeks were numb.

I spat out the alcohol and sat down in a chair in the living room.

One minute passed. No voice.

Five more minutes passed. No Tom.

After ten minutes, I breathed a sigh of relief, and stood up to resume my bedtime routine.

"Thanks AL, I can always rely on you."