I was in a rush to get out the door a few mornings ago. I’m always in a rush to get out the door in the morning. My mornings are a lit stick of dynamite. My eyes burst open to the sound of a sizzling fuse and then I bolt out of bed and dash around the house like a frightened squirrel tearing furniture and scratching paint off the walls in an effort to escape my sealed cage. After several running attempts I am finally able to I explode out of the front door just moments before it is engulfed in flames. BAM! I am shot clear of the house, hurtle through the air, and fall near death in the front seat of my car. I lay motionless and panting for several seconds before even starting the engine. Shortly later I arrive in my office, with my ears still ringing and my muscles twitching with shock, and my coworkers ask why I don’t ever drink coffee to stay awake in the mornings.

So, the other morning I was especially late leaving the house. The fuse was dangerously close to the powder and I hadn’t even brushed my teeth or combed my hair yet. I slid down the stairs and into the bathroom, rationing every second I had. I instinctively hopped a bath toy in the door way and reached for my tooth brush on the side of the sink. In a flash of horror I discovered it was missing. In its place, and covering the entire bathroom counter in general, were mounds and mounds of fluffy wet paper. Someone with tiny hands had decided to experiment the effects of tap water on several rolls of toilet paper and had used the counter in my bathroom as their lab bench. I gave a frantic shriek and mentally checked my clock. No time. No time!

I gathered up several arms full of disintegrating paper and plopped them into the garbage. A soggy dripping blob was deposited in and around the trash can. This would have to be dealt with later. As I cleared the space, I found my toothbrush. It was pushed to one side, next to the soap dispenser, thankfully saved from the marshmallow bathroom tissue disaster. In a race to make up lost time, I vigorously brushed my teeth and finished my hair in record time. My face would have to remain unshaven, as usual.

As I got into the car and started out onto the road I checked the clock. I wasn’t doing half bad. For an especially disastrous morning, it appeared I would be able to continue my day completely normal. Not a single tragic set back due to my unexpected bathroom troubles.

And it was at this moment that I realized my horrendous error. A sick acidic taste began to make itself known in my mouth. And echoing up from my throat came a familiar scent. Lavender hand soap. The secret weapon. While I had been distracted by the wet toilet paper in the sink, I hadn’t even thought to check my toothbrush which had been covered in goopy squirts of lavender hand soap. The perfect crime.

The rest of the day, my taste buds were shot. My head ached with lavender. My teeth smelled like they had just spent the weekend in a European day spa for women. When I smiled cartoon rose petals drifted into the air and a delicate song would play. It was one of the worst days my mouth has experience in recent history.