A Note About Someone's Yogurt

The note starts out restrained, but by the second line you can hear the hurt of someone who got up ten minutes early to pack a strawberry yogurt with their name on the lid, plus a hint that the author knows exactly who did it and is about to name names. It hangs from a souvenir magnet from Lisbon, and everyone who opens the fridge reads it with the face of someone called into the principal's office.

🌖 Around midday, right on time for lunch, Mercury locks horns with Mars, and the words Mercury handles in astrology get an extra degree of heat from Mars. It shows up in a very Friday way: a phrase that on Wednesday would have stayed in your head today makes it onto a sticky note, underlined and stuck to the door.

In genre, the note is closest to Juliet on the balcony: the same passion, the same “wherefore art thou,” the only differences being an addressee nobody knows and the object of desire — four ounces of strawberry yogurt. By mid-afternoon a reply appears underneath in different handwriting, “Seconded, my hummus disappeared last Thursday,” and by evening the note has become a collective petition from half the floor 📝

Late in the evening the Moon moves into Cancer and sends everyone home to their own fridges, where yogurts also vanish, though for well-known reasons. The office note's fate, by the way, is sealed: on Monday it will be taken down with the magnet during cleaning, and somewhere on the floor a person with strawberry lips will breathe a sigh of relief 🍓

The same passion as Juliet on the balcony, only this time it's about four ounces of yogurt.