“Look at that rainbow,” Chris said as we were driving back from Newton Abbot yesterday (the last of the Christmas shopping, hopefully).

“You’re always seeing rainbows,” I commented. It was the second time he had drawn my attention to them in as many days and I had begun to think that Chris was getting a thing about rainbows (another funny little habit to curb).

“And when it’s dark I look for stars,” he said rapturously in a falsetto voice.

I knew what he was alluding to and I giggled.

“I don’t know what our guests will think when they use our bathroom,” Chris added.

“They’ll think it’s cute,” I replied.

“So long as they don’t open the box,” he said.

“Why would they open the box?”

“Well I did! I thought it was inviting me look inside and I was quite shocked when I did!” he said in mock horror (hopefully).

At this juncture I ought to enlighten you about the box in question, which was a gift from dear friends who came to see us in the summer. The box is made from beautifully crafted cardboard painted a dark brown, is approximately three inches square, and, on the lid, is a brown plaque (not dental, but ornamental) inscribed in cream lettering with the message –  “WHEN IT RAINS LOOK FOR RAINBOWS ~~~~~~ WHEN IT’S DARK LOOK FOR STARS” (illustration below). Although designed as a vehicle to express the nice sentiment, the sturdy box can also be used to hold trinkets… or other things.

For some time the empty box stayed by my side out in the studio, then it moved down to my bedside table, and on from there into one of the pigeonhole compartments in my wardrobe cupboard. One day, when I was cleaning out all my cupboards, I came across a ten year old mould of my lower jaw, complete with teeth covered with a plastic mould of my teeth, which I used to wear at night in order to rectify a little problem I had with my jaw. Although the problem has long since become a thing of the past I have to keep the mould just in case. The white plaster mould (no illustration, thankfully), upon which the clear plastic guard is mounted, looks for all the world like the lower jaw of a skeleton; it measures about two and a half inches at its widest point, and it fits extremely well inside the the box…

“It wasn’t simply because it fitted so well that I decided to put it in the box. Can you guess my thinking?” I tested Chris (back in the car – not in the back of the car).

“I believe so but tell me anyway,” Chris smiled.

“Well,” I started to elucidate, “do you remember that old joke – ‘Darling, your teeth are like stars, they come out at night!’?”

“I thought that was the connection,” Chris answered.

Of course he did – this is the man who keeps seeing rainbows.