25 or 26


I broke a tooth. It was shrimp at happy hour with a new neighbor – ouch. I am not always happy to go to the dentist but I made my morning appointment. The qualified assistant could not figure out if it was tooth #25 or tooth #26. Only someone who knows a person, their history, or their teeth would know that I had #25 extracted as a child. What a mouthful of teeth without enough room. The dentist decided that #24 and #26 both needed work. People are always under construction. In one day an adult child can reveal a possible move out of state. Your accountant can call with tax filing news. The furnace guy can show up to announce that his vacuum is too large to go up your stairs unless the corner hutch is moved but he is not allowed to move furniture. Your sweet friend is still sick. Your printer won’t print envelopes today. It is all in a day’s work and it did all happen in the span of a few hours. Tooth number 25 has been gone for years. My parents are gone. My child may move. Without envelopes I cannot complete the task for work and my ducts are filling with dust to irritate those allergies and I don’t believe in leprechauns or tooth fairies. I believe in change. Tomorrow will have joy and concerns. Life happens. Teeth break. Good night and sweet dreams.