I am on antibiotics again. “I know you don’t like them,” my dentist puckered his lips, “but I don’t know of any way around them in this particular case.” A tooth needs to be yanked out, but it happens to be too inflamed for the procedure at present. I got a prescription for an antibiotic I had used a few times before, and I went to the nearest pharmacy without much ado. The dentist told me to call him in three days. If everything is hunky-dory with the inflammation by then, he will remove the tooth right away. If not, we will see each other three days afterwards. Returning to antibiotics, I do not like them, indeed. The winter is approaching, and I am sure to get something or other because my bacterial shield will have been weakened one more time. But the die has been cast already. I took the first pill only a moment ago. And solely on account of my silly teeth, the last bastion of vanity. My vanity, too.