The Dentist Put Off Since Spring

First came the spring excuse, “after vacation,” then the summer one, “too hot,” then the September one, “once things calm down,” and all this time the tooth behaved perfectly, aching only at cold things and only in the evenings, as if it understood this wasn't the time. The clinic's number has long been saved as “Teeth, URGENT,” and that contact has been opened more often than any other, including your mom's 📱

🌘 Early in the morning the Moon moves into Virgo, the sign astrology links with health, routine and the small tasks that wait years for their turn. The Moon herself is nearly gone, and in the early afternoon Mars and Uranus briefly catch each other's eye, which around the house looks like a fit of sudden decisiveness: your hand dials the number while your head is still looking for excuses.

The scariest part is the first ten seconds, while you say “hi, could I make an appointment,” after that it runs itself, and the front desk, which gets forty such calls a day, calmly offers Friday, eight-forty in the morning. By the way, the phone menu you learned over six months came in handy in the end: you pressed 3 before the robot even offered it.

In the evening the Moon and Venus are in a good mood with each other, and dinner conversation flows easily, especially since there's news: the story of the booking sounds almost like an Everest expedition report, with a solemn pause before “Friday, eight-forty” 🏔

The contact “Teeth, URGENT” has been opened more often than any other, including your mom's.