Pick Me, Pick Me!
Brian Armer
Sir Sudsworth heard the footsteps first. “Places!” he squeaked. “The giant approaches!” The bathroom cabinet erupted.
A toothpaste tube named Mint Condition elbowed past a jar of cotton balls. “Fresh entrance. Winning smile. Everybody stand back.” He squeezed too enthusiastically and deposited a magnificent striped curl on his own forehead. “Intentional,” he announced. “Avant-garde.”
“You're wearing your speech,” said Zombie.
The little electric-green Monster sat atop his silver tin, swinging his feet. He had been ready for twenty minutes. Mint had spent those twenty minutes deciding which side of his cap looked more presidential.
On the next shelf, Lady Lather adjusted her ribbon. She was a decorative seashell soap with the voice of an opera singer and the priorities of a museum exhibit. “I shall be chosen for my beauty.” “You said nobody was allowed to touch you,” Zombie reminded her. “Chosen, darling. Not handled. There is a distinction.”
Captain Cotton lowered himself from above on a strand of dental floss. Three cotton balls followed him, bouncing off the shelf in formation. “Soft landing!” he whispered. The fourth missed the shelf, landed in Lady Lather's dish, and was immediately accused of trespassing.
Then the comb arrived. His name was Slick. Nobody knew who had given him the sunglasses. “Gentlemen. Lady. Fluffy airborne units.” He slid into the light. “Relax. Dad always appreciates good teeth.” Mint Condition gasped. “That is MY department.” “Different teeth,” said Slick. “Same charisma.”
The footsteps stopped. Beyond the cabinet came running water, then the small familiar sound of a towel being lifted from its hook. Zombie stopped swinging his feet. He knew that sequence. Dad was taking care of a scrape. The little Monster planted both feet on his tin.
“Right,” he said. “My kind of call.”
Sir Sudsworth, a sponge who regarded himself as the cabinet's director of security, puffed to twice his usual size. “We should hold auditions.” “We should be ready,” Zombie replied. “I have prepared a twelve-minute introduction.” “The door will be open for about four seconds.” Sir Sudsworth stared at his notes. “I can speak quickly.”
Mint began his campaign anyway. “Imagine, if you will, a world of freshness!” Slick flicked his sunglasses. Captain Cotton attempted a salute and became caught in the floss. Lady Lather struck a pose so magnificent that two cotton balls applauded despite themselves.
Zombie checked the lid of his tin. Regenerate RX. His all-natural balm, ready for damaged-skin care. Conditioning and protective coverage were its business. That was what Dad needed today. Zombie straightened the tin at the front of the shelf.
“You need a slogan,” Mint whispered. “I'm ready.” “Short. Bold. Needs more jazz hands.” Zombie held up his two little hands. “These are work hands.”
The handle turned.
Light swept across the shelf like the opening of a theater curtain. Mint puffed out his chest. Slick leaned at a dangerous angle. Sir Sudsworth inhaled for his introduction. Lady Lather whispered, “Remember my good side.” Captain Cotton, still dangling, rotated slowly into view.
Dad's hand came through the doorway.
Past Mint. Past Slick. Straight to the silver tin.
Zombie grabbed the rim and grinned as the shelf dropped away beneath him. “Picked!” Captain Cotton cheered. Sir Sudsworth abandoned his speech and blew a tiny whistle. Lady Lather nodded graciously. “Excellent. I remain pristine.”
From outside came the quiet sounds of Dad opening the tin and applying a small amount to his clean, dry skin. Zombie perched on the lid, pleased to be exactly where he belonged. This was the best part of the job: being the choice someone reached for when care mattered.
When Dad returned the tin, the cabinet had transformed. Captain Cotton had escaped his floss. Mint had wiped his forehead. Sir Sudsworth had made a banner from a scrap of tissue. It read WELCOME BACK in handwriting that suggested he had panicked halfway through.
“How was the outside world?” Slick asked. “Enormous,” said Zombie. “Good lighting. Important work.” “Did you mention me?” asked Lady Lather. “It was a very busy four seconds.”
Sir Sudsworth approached with his notebook. “For the official record, what secured the selection?” Zombie climbed back onto his tin. “Right care. Right there.” Mint nodded slowly. Then he raised a finger. “That would sound terrific with jazz hands.”
The door began to open again. Every character froze. This time Dad's hand reached for the comb. Slick snatched up his sunglasses. “Hair appointment,” he said. “Try not to miss me.”
Zombie watched him sail into the light, then turned to the others. “Good thing we all have jobs.” Lady Lather settled into her dish. “Mine is being admired.” Captain Cotton bounced beside her. “You're very good at it.”
Who would win the auditions in your cabinet? Give Regenerate RX a place within reach for damaged skin care. The little green professional is ready for his entrance.