Tooth Fairy Decay

Dear Tooth Fairy, Sir or Madam:

I hope I am writing to the correct tooth fairy; the one assigned to the house on the corner of Schmern and Schmristos.  If not, will you please forward this message to whichever tooth fairy covers the greater Schmalt Schmake Schmity area.  Better yet, forward this to that fairy's supervisor.

I would like to complain.  The service has been less than stellar.  Of the 19 teeth that have come out of children's heads at our house only three have been exchanged for money on the first night that they were placed carefully under pillow.  Sixteen times the tooth has sat there under the pillow all night long.  I don't have to explain the disappointment this causes.  Children are not known for their patience and deep understanding when it comes to things they expect, and as a parent, I have to deal with the aftermath.

I understand that things happen and occasionally schedules don't work out like planned, but I think I should be able to count on a tooth fairy showing up more than 15 percent of the time.  If I did that at my work, someone would probably notice it, and that person would probably glare at me a lot without doing anything about it.  But, by golly I intend to glare and do something about this!

I appreciate the apology notes that have been left on nights two through seven.  However, if I'm being Frank--excuse me, I mean frank (Frank's a good guy, but why would I be him right now)--your apology notes look like the work of a 38-year-old man, chicken scratched as he kneels squinting at the counter of the bathroom trying to write like a fairy, but it's too dark to know exactly what the writing looks like or even what he is writing.  And besides, the notes are just one lousy excuse after another lousy excuse--how many fairy conventions does one tooth fairy have to attend in one year anyway?  And what's with the fancy spelling of  "Faerie."  Are we JM Barrie?

[Also, in your last apology note you told us your name, if you have a minute, could you remind me what that was?  I remember it was a series of five to seven words and there were some random objects in there.  It was a name that seemed like it was made up by a 38-year-old man kneeling in an un-lit bathroom scrawling a faerie note in the middle of the night, but obviously it wasn't that because it came from you.  So, remind me, what was your name again?  I need to know because Mimi lost the note with the name written on it, but she will remember, so if I ever have to know your name again, I'm going to need you to remind me.  I would ask Mimi, but I don't trust her to tell me the truth, for nefarious reasons that I won't disclose here.  It's a real lost 116 pages scenario.]

Anyway, start showing up or you're fired.  We will no longer give you our teeth.  Our teeth don't have to go under our pillows, you know.  We could carve them into trinkets, or tiny weapons, or jewelry, or tooth-related art and sell them, essentially eliminating the middle man, or the middle faerie as the case may be.

Good day sir or madam!  I said good day.


Wilson Culpepper