Goodbye, Tooth Fairy
I’m a very bad liar. As in, honest to the point of being offensive. Example? This week I said to a co-worker: “Sometimes when you talk, I just want to crawl under my desk.” Thankfully, I didn’t need to go home and kick myself for being rude, because she replied with: “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of Aeropostale calling to demand your cargo pants be returned to 1997.” (Whatever. It was casual Friday. And I can’t help it if I have a lingering obsession with Gwen Stefani circa her “I’m Just A Girl” video. If fluorescent tights from 1986 can come back in style,** cargos will once again have their day in the sun.)
This need for total honesty has carried over into many aspects of parenthood. Mostly: I am incapable of pretending that cartoony characters arrive at our house in the middle of the night to deliver gifts. I mean, a giant man-sized bunny? I dare you to tell me that’s not horror-movie creepy. How about the whole old-man-white-beard-carrying-a-mysterious-sack thing? Or a sparkly chick with wings holding a fistful of teeth? Here’s a general rule of thumb: if you were to answer the door and one of these characters was standing there, would you call the police? (After, of course, asking the Tooth Fairy if she gets her sparkle naturally, or from the M.A.C. All That Glitters collection.) I rest my case.
Unfortunately, other adults aren’t prepared for a 6 year-old to be all-knowing in the Magical Character department. My son showed up at the dentist this week with a tooth that was barely attached to his mouth, and the topic of conversation was the Tooth Fairy. To his credit, he smiled and nodded when the receptionist, hygienist, and dentist all mentioned her impending visit. However, four unlucky children in the waiting room got to hear his frustration on the way out: “Don’t these people know there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy?!” (If there was ever a time that I wish my shoes left trails of cash, this was it. Sorry about the loss of your innocence, kids, but how about a new bike to ease the pain?)
For as logical as my kid is (“I thought fairies were tiny– how does she even hold a dollar?”), it’s shocking that he packs more drama than the Kardashian family. When that tooth came out (fine, after I bribed him with a new video game and a pizza to let me pull it), he threw himself on the floor. I thought maybe he was in pain, but when I asked what was wrong, he said: “I’m so upset! My life is over! Where is the tooth? I need to see it! I need to remember what I looked like when I was… YOUNG.” (Ten points if you guessed that he burst into tears, I burst out laughing, and Bruce Jenner came in looking confused, yet perpetually surprised.)
The next morning, he woke up to find another tooth ready to fall out. And in true Kardashian pay-me-for-breathing form, he said: “If you think you’re pulling this one out, it’s going to cost you A LOT of money. I’m going to need to see your wallet.”
Kris Jenner would be proud.
**Seriously? The new Target collection makes me want to crank up Debbie Gibson and do the Roger Rabbit.
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