“Hey, you have to give me more toothpaste than that! My teeth aren’t going to go white themselves!” I say to my toothpaste. It snorts back at me.
“Oh c’mon, I don’t have much left! I gotta save some for other days!” It says. I give it a look, and set it on the counter.
“All right, mate, all right. Fine.” And with that, it squirts out another little burst. I take my toothbrush up to my mouth.
“Wait!” It says with a mouthful of toothpaste. I halt two inches from my mouth.
“What do you want?” I ask. Goodness, all I want is to brush my teeth!
“I don’t want to brush your teeth. There’s always some’n nasty in there, you know.”
“Well, what else would you do? Scrub somebody’s legs until they’re all clean?” I say, exasperated.
“Okay, okay.” It says, and I go on to brush my teeth.
In bed, I read my book under a lamp. The lamp looks over my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
“Watcha reading?” It says. Startled, I lose my spot in the book as I drop it onto the ground.
“Ey!” The book yells. I pick it up.
“Sorry, the lamp freaked me out again,” I say. “Hey, do you remember where I was?” The book rolls it’s eyes.
“Yeah, yeah.” It opens itself to my page, and I sigh with relief.
“Not a problem.” The book says. I turn on the lamp.
“Don’t do that again! What if the book couldn’t remember my spot?” I scold it.
“I’m sorry! Jeez, I’m sorry!” It says, flickering.
“But you better stay on!” I say, just as it flickers all the way off. It turns itself on. The light cast around the room is a light pink, the color of the lamp blushing.
“Oh, come off it.” I say.
The teacher drones on and on about equations. I could care less. Bored, I bring the pencil up to scratch my ear.
“You gonna use me or what?” It says, practically shouting. I jump at the loud sound and shush it quietly.
“Hey, the teacher’s talking. You know better!” I whisper. The pencil shrugs.
“I at least wanna be used for something.” And at that sentence, I put it on the paper and start to doodle. The paper sighs with content from a good belly rub. After a few minutes, the lead tip on the pencil breaks.
“YEEEOOOUUUUCCHHH!” The pencil shouts. I examine the break, the pencil whimpering in my hand.
“I’m gonna have to sharpen it.” I say. The pencil wails at the thought.
I open my laptop to start some homework. It turns on, eying my hands suspiciously.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “I don’t have as much homework as I did yesterday.” The laptop still eying me, I begin to type. The laptop giggles.
“Sush, you’re distracting me.” I say, and begin my essay. At first, the laptop only giggles in small fits. Then, as I continue, it begins to laugh loudly and obnoxiously.
“Sush!” I say, and stop typing. The laptop quiets, but I can still see tears in it’s eyes. “I literally only have a sentence left!” I finish up the sentence, the laptop giggling uncontrollably. I slam it shut as soon as I hit the last period. A timid “ow” comes from under the shut screen.
Later, playing a board game with my family, I roll the die.
“Ow, ow, ow.” They say as they topple over to a five and a three.
“Yes!” I say, and move my pawn into the winners position. My mom throws her hands in the air.
“Third time in a row! I think we may need these dice checked out!” As we clean up the game, I take the dice in my hands and hold them close to my face.
“Thanks guys.” I say, and put them back in the box.
“Not at all.” One says.
“No problem.” Says the other.
As I pass the clock on the wall, it ticks at me.
“Hey, what time is it?” It asks.
“It’s time to get a watch.” I say. It pouts.
“Oh, come on, you know I can’t do that!”
“Exactly.” I say, and begin to walk on.
“But, well, what numbers are my hands on?” It asks desperately.
“I don’t know.” I say.
“But you do!”
“Yes, you know you do!”
The clock sighs and gives up. The second hand ticks away. As my mom passes it, holding a bundle of laundry, I can hear it ask.
“What time is it? Can YOU tell me?”
My mom cuts into the chicken and serves me, my dad, and my siblings all a piece. I’m about to stab my chicken with my fork when it speaks up.
“I’m not hungry.” It says, refusing the food. I roll my eyes.
“It isn’t for you,” I say. “It’s for me.” I pick up the chicken, the fork’s voice muffled from inside. I stuff the whole piece into my mouth. The fork comes out, gasping for air.
“Gross,” It says.
“Be quiet.” I say, now attempting to shove it into the broccoli.
“I’m always the most miserable,” says the umbrella. “I’m the wettest.”
“But I catch rain sometimes, too! I also get cold ALL the time. In fact, I’m only out in the cold!” Says my jacket. It shivers for effect.
“Well, I’m probably colder than both of you.” I say, teeth chattering.
The umbrella and jacket quiet down for a moment, watching the rain.
“Well, the rain is pretty.” Says the jacket.
“Agreed.” Says the umbrella. “It’s always on my eyes, though, makes it hard to see.” It blinks multiple times.
“Yeah. I’m always wrinkled and creased, so sometimes my eyes are hidden.” Says the jacket. The jacket, the umbrella, and I all shiver at the same time from a rainy gust of wind. My hand gets cold, so I switch hands holding it.
“Oh my goodness!” The umbrella yelps when my skin touches the cool metal. “You are most definitely the coldest!”
“A full day at Disney will do that to ya,” I tell my dilapidated sandals. One of them groans.
“I’m hurting all over!” It says. The other, whose strap is nearly coming off, decides to complain too.
“My strap hurts! Is there any way you can fix it?” It asks. I shake my head no. It looks at the ground, disappointed.
“You dig your heel into me way too much.” It says finally. The other sandal nods.
“Yeah, your heels are rock hard. Pointy sometimes, too.” It agrees. I roll my eyes.
“The tennis shoes don’t complain to me about that!” I say.
“Well you haven’t spent a full day on THEM, have you?” They argue.
“No, but I’ve run six miles on them! Imagine that!” I say. The sandals lapse into silence.
Curled up in the covers of my bed, I’m about to fall asleep.
“Psssssst.” Says a voice.
“What?” I say groggily.
“You awake?” My pillow says to me.
“No,” I say, and turn over so my head is facing the other way.
“Psssssssssst.” The pillow says again. I groan. “You are awake!” It says.
“I wouldn’t be if you didn’t wake me.” I snap at it, and throw the pillow on the ground, using my covers as a makeshift pillow. I hear the muffled complaints, and am happy to hear that the pillow is facedown. I curl up in the covers, making myself comfortable, and finally, drift into a deep sleep.