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The Tooth Fairy Skipped Out…Again
The Tooth Fairy flaked out on us once more.
Honestly, I was tempted to give her a piece of my mind, maybe even a swift kick to her tiny fairy behind. How hard can it be to sneak into a house and leave a couple of coins under my daughter’s pillow? Is she juggling multiple gigs? Maybe she’s moonlighting for a family with a dozen kids? Because last I checked, every child had their own Tooth Fairy—which would explain why some kids find tablets or even ponies under their pillows, while mine are lucky to get a buck. Two bucks, on a good day.
When I walked into my 7-year-old daughter’s room this morning, she looked utterly heartbroken. Her three siblings, all close in age, gathered around her bed like mourners at a wake, their faces filled with concern as if they were waiting for their inheritance.
“What’s happening here?” I clapped my hands, trying to disperse the worried crowd. “Come on! It’s a school day!”
“You must have kept her up too late last night,” my daughter said dramatically, her sorrowful expression directed at me.
All eyes turned to me, and I scanned the room to figure out what was going on. That’s when I spotted the two-page letter she had penned to the Tooth Fairy the night before, still poking out from under her pillow.
“What? I… I was up late last night. Cleaning! Yeah, that’s it,” I stammered. “And I thought I heard something at the back door. Must have been the dog in the compost! But when I looked outside, no one was there. It was around midnight, I guess. You know how it goes. Stupid fairy—such a scaredy-cat. She really is the worst. What a lousy fairy she’s turned out to be.” I nodded vigorously and began to back out of the room.
“It’s OK, Mom. Just try to get to bed early tonight, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. But you have to remind me, okay? Remind me to hit the sack early. And if she doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
That lazy fairy is really testing my patience. I’m fed up with her lack of commitment to the one job she has. Seriously, where do they recruit these fairies? Did she fail as a forest fairy, get booted from Neverland, and now she’s just phoning it in? Because she’s starting to seem like a washed-up has-been to me. And I want to give her a piece of my mind.
The first time the Tooth Fairy forgot to visit, it was for my son, the twin of the toothless girl. That morning, she consoled him by offering to share her silver dollar. To her credit, she had come just two days earlier. Those twins churn out teeth like nobody’s business.
Now that I think about it, there was a weekend when she collected four teeth from three of my kids, and on one of those nights, the Easter Bunny showed up too. We were out of town, and yet she still managed to leave two Susan B. Anthonys and a two-dollar bill—who even uses that anymore? But does anyone remember when she actually does show up?
And, truth be told, I wanted to point out to my forlorn bunch with their judging eyes that it was quite the coincidence that both times she “got scared off,” the child in question had left a detailed letter under their pillow asking for her to fill out a questionnaire complete with checkboxes and a self-portrait. I mean, come on! That’s a tall order for a busy fairy, right?
I noticed my youngest, a 5-year-old, standing a bit apart from the others, nervously wiggling her bottom two teeth. She hasn’t lost any baby teeth yet, but with three loose teeth, she’s one step away from looking like a jack-o-lantern. I think she’s been avoiding it.
I keep telling her she’s not allowed to lose her teeth—she’s the youngest, and once her teeth start falling out, I know we’ll be nearing the end of our magical creature days sneaking into our home at night. I mean, the idea of strangers in tights sneaking down our chimney or flying in through locked doors with baskets full of glitter? A little unsettling, to say the least. But I know the days of magic are numbered.
I’m pretty sure the Tooth Fairy will show up tonight. She’ll apologize for not coming last night with some lame excuse about being distracted by the sight of people still awake, all written in her fanciful, curly fairy handwriting. There will probably be glitter, and maybe an extra Susan B. Anthony as compensation for her blunder. That’s what she did last time, after all.
And everyone will forgive her, just like that. Money and glitter have a way of smoothing things over. But I won’t. I’ll still feel the urge to confront that lazy fairy, to give her a piece of my mind. Because there are only so many teeth to collect in this world, only so many chances to sprinkle a little magic. And once again, she dropped the ball.
(sigh)
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In summary, the Tooth Fairy has once again disappointed my daughter, leaving her heartbroken and her siblings in mourning. As a parent, the struggle of maintaining the magic of childhood while dealing with the reality of a lazy fairy is a challenge. I can only hope she redeems herself tonight.