The Case of the Expired Listerine

Like I mentioned a few days ago, we just got back to our summer home. The wife rearranges the bathroom, which largely means that my stuff loses space while her stuff gains space. Still, it is a big bathroom. I will survive. But will I thrive? I finish brushing my teeth and look for the open Listerine. I finally got it down to about ¼ full where it is easy to lift and pour. It’s not in the cabinet so I look under the sink. Only full bottles down there. Luckily, she’s in the bathroom with me so I ask her, “Where is the Listerine?”\

“I threw it out.”\

I’m puzzled. She uses Listerine. I use Listerine. So I rolled the universe into a ball and asked, “Why?”\

“It was old.”\

My first thought, of course, is that I am also old. Was this a hint? My second thought escaped before I really thought about it. “Listerine doesn’t get old.”\

“It smelled old.”\

“It’s got alcohol in it. You could use it as a preservative, for crying out loud. You don’t drink it or eat it.”\

“Are you really going to get mad at me for throwing out the Listerine? It only costs five bucks.”\

I wasn’t mad at her. I told her so. In fact, I told her I worshipped the very ground she walked on. But then I let it slip out. “I just wanted to know why you threw it out.”\

She pulled out the trump card. “I am a woman.”\

If you know what that means, in this context, in response to my questions, then you are also a woman. I am a man, so I did the only reasonable thing a man can do in such a situation. I reached under the sink cabinet to man handle an unopened bottle of Listerine.