In this big old creaky Victorian resplendent with carved woodwork and ancient plaster walls, where the light shines warm through leaded glass windows and laughter echoes off the high ceilings, lies a most ominous secret.
Oh yes.
In this house the tooth fairy is said to be a tiny bell-ringing, sparkling milky-way shadowed creature with a beautiful smile and papery butterfly wings.
It's all a hideous lie.
In reality the tooth fairy is 6'4", blonde, generally unshaven and wearing only pajama bottoms and he scratches his chin in bewilderment, fishes a five dollar bill out of his wallet and attempts to navigate a floor strewn with Polly Pocket wardrobe implements. Once the toy minefield is successfully navigated, our giant cumbersome fairy will then knock the clock radio off the nightstand thereby waking up Ruth, who confronts our fairy still holding the tooth box.
Oh shit.
His excuse?
I was just clearing a path so the tooth fairy won't have any problems finding you tonight. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.
The fairy was dispatched once again around midnight and I'm pleased to say he made much less of a ruckus the second time around and this morning Ruthie was a very wealthy young lady indeed.
