The Tooth Collector
I almost blew the whole tooth fairy thing already, and The Elder is a few years away from even getting a loose tooth.
“Mommy, is the tooth fairy REAL?”
“Um, yeah — um, so, uh …. well, why do you ask?”
“You said fairies aren’t real!”
“Oh, uh, see, that’s because she’s like, a different kind of fairy. A, um, metaphorical fairy? She’s in the fairies … union, like the, uh, elves, but not exactly a fairy, per se?”
“Well, does she have helpers?”
“You mean like a staff? Uh-huh. Yeah, I think she has some employees. Possibly elves.”
Next up, he’s waiting to hear how Santa can live at the North Pole if there is no land at the North Pole (as he learned from “The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That: Ice is Nice”) and why Mommy and Daddy have to be from another country, called the East Coast, where parents don’t allow toddlers to play “Angry Birds.” Ever. Or so his parents say.
I’ve also got to come up with a better explanation for why this lady wants his teeth. What does she do with them? Does she eat them? Study them? Wear them? Sell them?
My mother very cleverly told me the tooth fairy was building a big house, and I bought it, briefly, but today’s savvy kids might just put in a call to the FBI. A house … made out of teeth? What is it decorated with, hair rugs? Fingernail mosaics? Is she a serial killer, or just your run-of-the-mill fetishist?
As a society, don’t we owe it to our kids to find better reasons to put body fragments under pillows? Let’s start today.