I hate the tooth fairy.
I'm typically the parent who loves the magic of childhood. Well, by "loves" I mean "indulges extravagantly and creatively while bitching about it most of the time" (fucking Elf on the Shelf). That's the stuff that lights me up as a parent, the fun and imagination and silliness and the complaints about the resultant mess and effort.
But the tooth fairy can kiss my ass. For real, I am counting the molars until I can officially end that relationship. She's unpredictable, frequently forgets to show up, made that stupid ass rule about putting the tooth under the pillow instead of somewhere more convenient to access and there is absolutely no consistency with pay rate. What does she do with the teeth? No one really knows, there's not even much of a story there. What does she look like? Not a clue. Teeth are gross. Wiggly teeth, loose teeth, absent teeth, lost teeth -- all absolutely revolting and not to be celebrated! This is seriously the weirdest tradition ever.
When little kid was preparing for getting his two teeth pulled, he mentioned that he was going to hit the tooth fairy jackpot with two teeth at once.
"Preston got $20 from the tooth fairy for losing ONE tooth! I never got $20!" he said.
"Preston's parents are assholes," I thought. I gave a noncommittal hmmm.
"Can you imagine if I got 20 bucks? It would be $40 for two!"
"Maybe Preston's was a gold tooth. I can't imagine getting $20 from the tooth fairy. It's usually like a dollar, or whatever. You might get a little bit more since the dentist is pulling them out but I don't really know. The tooth fairy just kind of does whatever, it seems."
He nodded; her history of unprofessionalism has served me well.
Before he went to bed that night, I told him I read on the internet that a lot of kids were leaving their teeth on their nightstand so they are easier for her to find. She's getting old, you know. He left his on the nightstand.
After some parental conferencing, alarm setting, and wallet digging, Mr. Ashley assured me the tooth fairy would get the job done this time.
I woke up in a panic as he awoke for work. "Did it happen?" He nodded. I felt tremendous relief.
Moments later little kid straggled in, hair messy, face lit up with joy, "The tooth fairy came!"
"She left me TWENTY DOLLARS!!"
"She left you TWENTY dollars?" Mr. Ashley and I looked at each other and then back at him with forced smiles.
"What the hell?!?" I hissed as little kid left the room, happily waving his $20 bill.
He shrugged apologetically. "It was dark! I didn't know!"
Sure enough, the intended $5 bill sat on our nightstand, minus the $20 bill for lunch money.
Sorry I called you assholes, Preston's parents. It's obviously the tooth fairy who is the asshole.
I hate the tooth fairy.