Toothbrushes

Between them, the Offsprogs have attended school, college and University and collected assorted friends along the way, many of whom have lain rolled up in blankets and duvets in lines on the living room floor, or crushed themselves into human mountains on the beds upstairs. The size of the residence has not deterred them; young people can layer and fold themselves into any sized accommodation, I have found.
This factor is the reason for the fifteen-and-counting (OK, so I'm exaggerating, but not much) toothbrushes sprouting colourfully from the tooth mugs in the bathroom.
I had had enough so I asked the girls to weed out each toothbrush that belonged to them, and I'd throw the rest away- or put them under the sink for scrubbing the grouting when it got grubby.
I looked for my brand new toothbrush this morning, and alas, I found it face down in the bathroom bin.
'Sorreee', said an Offsprog. 'I thought it was an extra one so I threw it away.'
I was aghast. This does not fit in with my penny-pinching scheme!
So it's been in the dishwasher. I do hope the antibacterial properties of the dishwasher tablets do as they promise and destroy all nasty germs; it looks clean enough and it may taste of Finish for a day or so: but. My gnashers will be gleaming like porcelain, and although it's life may have been shortened slightly, I've saved a bob or two by not having to replace it.
Should I write and tell Viz?