Henry and the Toothpaste Hill

Henry wanted to brush his teeth all by himself, with the very best foam on the whole windowsill.

He lived in a tiny house with a windowsill garden. Pots of every size crowded the sill, and outside the window sat the Humming Hill. It always hummed when it rained, and nobody thought that was strange. Tonight it was raining, so the hill hummed, mmmmm.

Henry stood on his stool. He squeezed the toothpaste tube. Nothing came out.

"Come on," said Henry. He squeezed harder. Still nothing.

He tried rolling the tube like a rolling pin. He rolled it flat. A tiny blob came out, no bigger than a pea, and it slid off his brush and into the sink.

"Oh no," said Henry.

Then he tried standing the tube on its head. He tapped it. He shook it. He even whispered to it. The tube just sat there, thin and tired.

Henry looked out the window. The hill hummed, mmmmm, and a snail sat on the rim of the smallest pot. The snail was only there to eat a mint leaf, and it did not care about toothpaste at all.

Henry looked at the mint. He looked at his brush.

"Mint is a bit like toothpaste," he said slowly. "It smells just the same."

He picked one little leaf. He rubbed it on his wet brush until it was green and smelled fresh. Then he brushed. Front teeth, back teeth, the tops, and the sides. The green foam was not very foamy. But it tasted cool, like a small wind.

Then he tried the tube one last time. Squeeze. Pffft! A long white ribbon shot out and landed right on the snail.

"Sorry," whispered Henry.

The snail did not mind. It just kept chewing.

Henry brushed again, this time with foam piled high like a snowy hill. He rinsed, smiled in the mirror, and showed every shiny tooth.

Outside, the rain kept falling. The hill went on humming, mmmmm, softly, softly, and the mint leaf smelled sweet in the dark.