The Tide To Go Pen Had Plans

The Tide To Go Instant Stain Remover Pen arrived in a two-pack from Amazon. BW said it was for coffee drips before I picked up my next fare. I told her I don't drink coffee. She said it's for the ones you find on the seat after the fare leaves. I nodded. That's marriage.

The pen sat in the center console for three weeks. It watched me wipe mustard off a seat belt with a baby wipe. It knew it was better than that. It was a precision instrument. Procter & Gamble had given it a gel tip that released hydrogen peroxide in a controlled stream. It was not meant for seat belts. It was meant for shirting.

Then the child found it.

She appeared in the doorway holding the pen like a wizard's staff. BW said put that back where you found it. But the child was already gone. The child is never gone longer than seven minutes. That's the rule. If she's gone longer, something has been drawn on something. Or cleaned off something. Or both.

I found her in the living room. The Tide To Go was in her hand. It was empty. Completely empty. The little white reservoir was as transparent as a vow of poverty. And the couch. The couch had a wet patch. The size of a dinner plate. The shape of Mexico.

I said what did you do. She said I fixed the stain. Which stain. The one that wasn't there yet.

BW came in. She touched the wet patch. She said that's bleach. I said it's hydrogen peroxide. She said Jim, look at the color. The couch was a sort of beige. The kind of beige that comes from a catalog. The wet patch was now the kind of white that comes from a lab. A perfect, aggressive white. Mexico had been erased.

The Tide To Go pen was empty. It would never remove another coffee drip. It would never sit in a purse waiting for a red wine emergency. It had been deployed against a phantom stain. A stain the child had invented so it could be cleansed. And it had given everything it had.

I picked up the pen. It felt light. Liberated, maybe. Or hollowed out. Like a soldier who completed a mission he didn't sign up for. I put it in the recycling. The child was already onto the Sharpie.

If you liked this story about the Tide To Go Instant Stain Remover Pen, you can buy your own on Amazon. Remember, we're BFF if you do.