Dear Tooth Fairy,
I’m writing to report an obvious discrepancy is your recent business transactions.
On September 11, 2012, my daughter Taylah lost a tooth. Thankfully it was a fairly painless extraction that occurred whilst eating ice-cream.
Now I’m assuming that you have similar omnipresent abilities to Santa and the Easter Bunny, so are no doubt aware of the following information, but just in case, I shall inform you anyway.
Tuesday, for my nine year old, was a particularly bad day. Not only did she begin the morning, more than slightly concerned that her class would again be the victim of a particularly narky relief teacher, but she also suffered a personal tragedy.
Her rabbit died.
And not just of old age or a lingering illness. No. Her two beloved pet bunnies planned a risky escape that resulted in one bouncing happily around the yard, whilst the other was pinned between two bits of chicken wire, and left to die what was either a quick, unexpected death, or a slow suffocation.
We are still dealing with the aftermath of that, with his poor mate somewhat traumatised, and still grieving.
As if that wasn’t enough, dear sir, upon comforting my distressed daughter, I discovered that her hair was literally crawling with head lice.
So many head lice.
Cue extensive stinky hair treatments, and a crick in the next upon major lice egg removal.
Not fun for anyone, I can assure you.
Do fairies get lice?
Relief teacher fear, dead rabbit and the itchiness of ones scalp is pretty bad when your nine. In fact, for a little tacker, that’s a supremely awful day.
Until you break your toe.
Ostensibly, it could be argued that she wanted to follow in her mothers very clumsy footsteps, but regardless, a broken, bruised toe six weeks before the end of year ballet performance is not the greatest outcome.
All of these reasons combined, is why she was granted ice cream Tuesday night, which of course, let to the removal of her tooth.
Now I feel the need to point out, dear fairy, that despire the pre-bedtime reminder by Miss Taylah, you completely forgot to swap her tooth for cash. (And I refuse to hear excuses that you did not have any cash in your wallet; I know about your secret stash.)
To your credit, you made up for the mistake the next day (day, not night I may point out), by providing the reward and a pay rise.
Gone are the days apparently of $2 donations for the tooth; no you went all extravagant and gave her a whopping five bucks!
Which is where the discrepancy comes in.
As the tooth fairy, and the knower of all things oral related, you must surely be aware that tomorrow, the 15th of Septmeber, I will finally be having my wisdom removed (gastro withstanding.) When I confronted your business representative the other day about the obvious GFC increase applied to the collection of said baby tooth, I was informed that despite the fact that my extraction will be longer, more painful and aided with the use of a prescription full of drugs, you would not be paying me for my wisdom teeth.
And this, my friend, is just wrong.
Considering that Taylah’s slightly bigger tooth got an increase of $3, and that it was removed whilst indulging in a sweet treat, I think it is only fair that the removal of all my perfectly acquired and might I add, painfully sought after knowledge, be met with a much more significant enlargement.
Much more significant.
Have you met my dentist?
Of course you have; you’re probably related. Well then you would know that he is a sadist who enjoys inflicting people with pain and charging them through the roof for it. Not only is Saturdays appointment going to leave me with a mouth full of stitches, but also with a giant chunk taken out of my credit card.
So this is what I propose: Saturday evening, assuming I remember in my drug befuddled state, I’ll put the dentists receipt under the pillow with my wisdom teeth, and you can replace them with the exact amount of cash necessary to pay the credit card back. Because, let’s face it, I’m wonderfully wise, and those babies would fetch a pretty penny on the black (or is it pearly white?) market.
If, of course, you oblige, I’ll happily withdraw all my complaints to your company (and Santa, who we all know oversees all these transactions), and we can all live happily every after.
And if you don’t? Well I may be forced to tell all children every where that your not real, and then look what you would have done! And just to show I mean business, I’m linking this with Grace so that everyone will see and know your double standards.
So Mr Tooth Fairy, do we have a deal?