The Toothbrush Factory

Logan had failed to draw breath for the past half hour.  I was drifting in and out of the conversation, adding an occasional comment at the appropriate interval, nodding and smiling and doing my part.  As any parent will tell you, having children means you will never have another moment's peace.  Suddenly, my attention was arrested and I was drawn back to reality.

“You know Lexie.  My partner.  She picked me and then I picked her.”

All at once I kind of wish I knew what we were talking about.

“Her dad is the manager of...” he trailed off to think, “...of the toothbrush factory?”

It came out as more of a question than a statement.  My mind was blank.  It was like some sort of horrible riddle.  Now, I know a lot of people in various lines of work but I am darn near certain that I don't know a manager of a toothbrush factory.  The expectant silence was growing uncomfortable.  He looked up at me with a pleading expression.  I took a shot in the dark.

“You mean the dentist's office?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” he replied, apparently relieved.

“You mean her dad's the dentist at the dentist's office.”

“Yes, dentist's office.”

Whew!

- 27 October 2016