Old Monk is the answer to everything

So I was some three glasses of wine down. Sitting with Ms. Competition. Whose mission in life is to compete with brainchild me. Over salaries. Over jobs. Over boyfriends. Over the amount of sex in a week. Over basically everything. And she went on and on, gushing about her newest boyfriend and how he is "the one".
All the while, I was mentally making a list of the men I've been with, ranking them over who's-better-in-bed. And then I snapped back into reality.
"The boy & I even share our toothbrush."
I can understand love. I know people who share bath towels. I have deep respect for those who can manage to sleep in the same bed without fighting over who takes up blanket space. But sharing a toothbrush?
I need a bottle of old monk, preferably neat, to get over this.