The Toothless Fairy

Molly’s alarm went off, as it did every day at 8 a.m., sending a jolt through her system and making every living cell rebel against the idea of getting out of bed.

“Oh no, this is going to be a tough day,” she thought. “Why must people work until they’re 67, while the average European lifespan is 73? This is pure injustice.”

With this philosophical reflection on the human condition, she slowly placed one foot on the floor, then the other, and finally slid her torso down, landing on her knees. Her head, unfortunately, remained on the bed and refused to move. Molly stayed in that position for a few minutes — or so she thought.

When she finally woke up, drooling, it turned out she was already late for work. That was enough motivation to finally get up.

“Oh crap!” she yelled, rushing to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, she did it so carelessly that she slammed her face into the door. A metallic taste filled her mouth, but she had no time to feel sorry for herself. She swallowed her pride — and possibly a bit of blood — and continued getting ready.

Only when she heard something hit the sink while brushing her teeth did she stop. Among the blood, foam, and toothpaste lay a tooth.

Slowly, she began lifting her head toward the mirror, cautiously attempting a smile — not because she felt like it, but to assess the damage.

It turned out Molly had to say goodbye to her upper left lateral incisor. That was the last straw. Already emotionally drained, she decided to call in sick.

“Jason, I can’t come to work today,” she said to her boss. “I have a dentist appointment…”

“Molly! For crying out loud... You can’t do this to us today! We have a meeting with an important contractor about the suburban road reconstruction — it’s your project!”

“I completely forgot, Jason. But the problem is... I’m missing my front tooth, and my lip looks like I’ve had five syringes of hyaluronic acid injected into it,” she replied, shaken. “You could ask Peggy to step in — she knows the project inside out, she’ll manage…”

“No way, Molly. You have one hour to get here,” her boss shouted before hanging up.

Defeated, she tried to cover up the damage. She applied a thick layer of concealer to her face, especially around her eyes, which had developed two massive dark circles, and around her mouth to make her lips appear smaller.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help much — her lip was only starting to swell. She packed her cosmetic arsenal in her bag just in case she needed a touch-up later, applied some gloss to her sore lips, put on her formal outfit, and left the house, trying not to think about how much her face hurt.

On the way to work, Molly felt a desperate need for caffeine, so she stopped by a café, dreaming of coffee and a pistachio cream croissant.

She even managed to park without any issues — quite a feat in the city center.

“Maybe my luck is turning around,” she thought hopefully.

After placing her order, she settled at a window-side table, waiting peacefully.

Suddenly, an angry man stormed into the café, shouting:

“Large white, right now! I’m tipping big!” he yelled, slamming down at the counter.

“Coming right up, Mr. Smith,” replied the barista.

Molly couldn’t ignore it. She stood up, furious, and walked to the counter.

“Excuse me, I placed my order before this gentleman, and I’d like to receive my coffee in the proper order.”

Mr. Smith looked down at her and replied,

“You look like someone who’s in a hurry to get to a beauty salon, at best,” he said, staring at her swollen lips. “I, on the other hand, am a serious man with an important business meeting to attend.”

“How dare you?” Molly exclaimed, wincing in pain. “As a matter of fact, I also have an important meeting and I’m on a tight schedule…”

Their exchange was interrupted by the barista.

“Your coffee, Mr. Smith.”

“Thanks. Goodbye,” the man grabbed his drink and left.

Molly waited another fifteen minutes for her order, cursing the unfairness of the world. Even the coffee couldn’t lift her spirits — the taste of blood lingered in her mouth, and trying to eat the croissant was a total failure.

She finally arrived at the office, unsure what to be more upset about — the missing tooth, her face, or the looming meeting.

Walking down the corridor, she felt as if everyone’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to her. She decided to stop by the restroom to check her reflection — something she’d been trying to avoid all morning, but she needed to take control.

When she reached the mirror, she was horrified by what she saw.

“Dear God,” she mouthed silently. Her lips had swelled to at least seven times their normal size.

With trembling hands, she pulled her cosmetic kit from her bag and tried to minimize the visible damage. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much.

Blushing furiously, she stepped out of the bathroom, feeling like she might pass out any second.

She hated her boss.

She hated her alarm clock.

She hated the man from the café.

And then she saw him.

Mr. Smith was standing in the meeting room.

“Jason, you should forbid your employees from getting lip fillers. Some don’t know when to stop,” Mr. Smith said, looking at Molly in disgust. “Couldn’t you at least show up on time without overdosing on aesthetics?”

Molly’s boss, Jason, stared at her in disbelief.

“Mr. Smith, let me explain — this is my fault. Molly wasn’t supposed to come in today. She had… an unfortunate accident. She hit her face and knocked out a tooth… Show him, Molly.”

It was as if Molly’s brain short-circuited — she showed him.

Mr. Smith turned bright red, staring at the exhausted, defeated woman standing in the middle of the room.

She looked as though she was on the verge of tears, but she said nothing. She just stood there, trembling.

“I think the best solution would be to assign Peggy to present the project, and Molly should go to the dentist,” Jason suggested.

“No way. I’ll take you to the dentist myself, and we’ll reschedule the presentation. If you’re the project’s author, I want you there,” Mr. Smith replied.

“As you wish... I deeply apologize for the inconvenience,” said Jason.

“It’s nothing. I’m the one who should apologize,” said Mr. Smith awkwardly. “May I offer to take you to the dentist?” he asked Molly, a bit sheepishly.

“Yes, please,” she replied quietly.

He held the door open for her, and they slowly walked down the corridor toward the exit.

Unfortunately, the elevator was out of order, and they had to take the stairs.

“I promise, this dentist I know is one of the top specialists in the country — he’ll see you immediately,” Mr. Smith babbled on.

They were almost at the bottom of the staircase, with just two steps to go, when Mr. Smith attempted to jump down one step to open the door for the lady.

Unfortunately, he tripped and landed face-first on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Molly chirped.

Mr. Smith slowly pushed himself up but felt something loose in his mouth — he spit it out.

It was a tooth.

“Smile for me,” Molly asked.

Mr. Smith twisted his face into a grin, revealing his teeth.

“Upper right lateral incisor,” she diagnosed.

They linked arms and headed to the dentist.