There's a cute story about getting frustrated over little things like toothpaste splatters in a marriage. In the story, it turns out that both the wife and the husband were at fault for the mess. It's called "Toothpaste on the Mirror."
BUT, I just cleaned the mirror last week, and I'm not exaggerating about the placement of the splatters. I cornered Andrew on the elevator this morning, and he had noticed it too. He has no defense.