Poppy and the Toothbrush Nest

"I'm not brushing tonight," said Poppy, "because the tap makes a growly noise."

She was right. The bathroom tap went grrrrrrunk whenever anybody turned it on. It sounded like a bear with a cold. Poppy stood on her stool and held her toothbrush very still.

But she did want clean teeth. She wanted them shiny for her stuffed rabbit, Biscuit, who liked to check them every morning. That was the rule in their house.

"I could brush with no water," Poppy whispered. She put toothpaste on the brush. It was minty and bright. She brushed the front ones. Then she had a mouth full of foam, and nowhere to rinse.

"Blurgh," said Poppy.

So she tried something different. She filled her small blue cup in the bath tap instead. The bath tap did not growl. It went plip, plip, plip. But the cup was only half full, and it was too far to carry. Splish! Half of it landed on her socks.

Poppy looked at the sink. She looked at the tap. The growl came from somewhere deep in the pipe, and she noticed something. It only growled when the tap was turned all the way.

"Maybe it likes a small turn," she said.

She put her hand on the tap. She turned it just a tiny bit.

Plip. Plip. Plip. A thin, quiet stream trickled out. No growl at all.

"Hello, tap," said Poppy. "We can be quiet together."

She brushed the top teeth, the bottom teeth, and the backs. She rinsed with the little trickle, and spat. Then she smiled at the mirror, very wide.

Biscuit sat on the edge of the bath. Poppy held him up to see.

"Shiny," she said in his voice, in a squeaky whisper.

She turned the tap off, gently. The pipe gave one last tiny grrk, like a yawn, and the house went still.