Exactly a week ago the wife reminded me the boys' dental appointments this afternoon.

And I promptly forgot.

Until youngest son left a little before noon, and promised he would be back by two o'clock to get his brother and get ready for the dentist.

Have I remarked how responsible he is?

Anyway, during lunch, the dentist's office calls. Hoping to talk to the wife, since she has asked them to schedule appointments for the two us, as well (we're six months overdue).

Well, wife isn't here. It's Monday, a "client day", so I suspect she's working through lunch. And I know she is ignoring her phone messages, as a youth group leader called here about some county fair stuff, noting the wife had not yet returned his message.

See, there are five workers in that office. One retired Friday, and two are on vacation. So it is just the wife and her boss running everything.

She's a little harried.

Add to that, I discovered this evening that her files are still in her old office, necessitating a run between offices with every client or phone call.

They are like vultures in that office, craving the better office spaces. The wife moved already on Friday, into the retiree's old space, her second move in less than two years. From a warm south-facing office with one window into the neighboring warm south-facing office with.... ready?... two windows!

Wow.

I have been in the same basement office for 20 years and one month now. Haven't opened the drapes in over a year.

Anyway, the point of all this?

The dentist (actually his wife, the dental hygienist) has a four o'clock space open today. They can get one of us in right after the boys.

Oh, joy.

No point in calling the wife. I know she can't take even an hour off this week. So I volunteer.

After screaming at eldest son, who decided he should shave today, 12 minutes before his appointment, with a ten minute drive to get there, we take off in youngest son's Subaru.

And I'm enjoying the music. How are we getting this kind of sound from our local radio station?

We're not. It's a cd.

Big Bad VooDoo Daddy, if you know him.

Given this day and age, I think this is incredible, for two reasons.

One, a teenager who likes jazz.

And two, a teenager who doesn't mind letting the world know he likes jazz.

Oh, yeah. The impending need to cover the tips of my incisors and canines, since I'm getting long of tooth, that the hygienist warned me about in 1997?

The time has come.