When I was about 4, we spent Christmas with my great grandparents in Wenatchee. I was a very bossy, independent little girl and I was convinced I could handle pretty much everything all by myself. While the grown-ups were talking about boring things I decided to get ready for bed. Mom had one of those fantastic 80's cosmetic roll-up things that hang on the back of a door and I could see the little tube of travel toothpaste in it. I climbed on a stool and retrieved the toothpaste and brushed my teeth all on my own. The toothpaste tasted terrible but then so did a lot of the food I'd been introduced to on that trip, such as prunes. I carried on with my preparations (i.e. Garfield nightgown and laying out my plastic jewelry for the next day) as my mouth slowly grew more and more numb. It finally got to the point where I had an impressive streamer of drool leaking from my mouth and I figured I should get help before I couldn't move my lips at all. I appeared in the living room and began attempting to relate my unfortunate circumstances to a fairly puzzled group of adults. Mom finally asked if something was wrong with my mouth, to which I replied, "VUH HOOPAY MAY MY MOUF FEE WEER." Mom somehow deciphered that and asked me what the hell kind of toothpaste I had used to turn me into a slobbering loon. I shambled to the bathroom and retrieved the tube; when Mom saw it she dissolved in laughter and almost wet herself in the hallway. Because I'd brushed my teeth with Vagisil. And I don't recommend it. Sure made for a fun visit with Grandma and Grandpa though, and the Poison Control people were awfully nice too.
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