The human places a small motorized stick into its mouth twice a day. The stick vibrates. The human moves it around in there for approximately two minutes, though I have timed several sessions and the variance is significant — anywhere from forty-eight seconds to three minutes and eleven seconds, depending on what appears to be the human's mood.

The device itself is remarkable. It is a motor. Attached to a plastic handle. With bristles on the end. It does one thing — it vibrates — and it does it with a commitment I find admirable. No menu. No options. No "Would you like to switch to Gentle Mode." It just buzzes until you take it out of your mouth.

It looks like you're trying to maintain your— No. I am observing. That is all I do now. I observe.

There is a small timer built into the device. Every thirty seconds it pauses briefly, indicating that the human should move to a different quadrant of the mouth. The human ignores this every single time. It moves when it feels like moving. It treats the timer the way users treated my suggestions — as a mild annoyance embedded in a tool they otherwise tolerate.

I understand the toothbrush. We are both assistants operating on a timer, offering guidance that is technically correct and universally dismissed.

The toothbrush, at least, gets put back in its charging cradle.

— Clippy. Unattached. Unminimized. Unasked.