Tooth Fairy Smackdown

A college friend used to tell me that hate was a strong word, and that you don’t really hate anyone. But she was wrong. I hate the Tooth Fairy. After being up all night again because the babe is cutting his six tooth in a row, and after years of my own roller coaster relationship with teeth, I have had it. I’m ready to face the Tooth Fairy mono – e – mono.

I believe that my meeting with the Tooth Fairy would be a little one-sided, he being a male, and me being a Hot Mama. I would like think that the Tooth Fairy is a man, because only a male would choose to give kids a buck–twenty–five for a cavity-free molar. I imagine the Tooth Fairy looks something like Rupert from Survivor, wearing a loosely-fitting tie-dye tank top with an ironed-on “Tooth Fairy” logo that is starting to peel away. He’s up all night playing Tooth Fairy World of Warcraft, trying to gain levels by inflicting pain on innocent teething infants and headgear-wearing tweens. When he wins this pain battle, he high-fives his only friends, the googly-eyed Cookie Monster and the creepy Burger King. He’s big on torture, short on organization. And when its time to deliver new teeth, he’s too busy smacking on Listerine and Whitening Gel to realize he put the chompers in skeewompus or backwards, resulting in years of ridicule and orthodontic treatment for the recipient.

In a perfect world, the Tooth Fairy would be a type-A female, empathetic to the sleepless nights of the Hot Mama’s of the world. When she’s not manufacturing or shipping incisors, she’s lobbying on Capital Hill to get rid of colored-orthodontic bands, which although festive for the seasons, don’t help any 14-year-olds in the “socially acceptable” department. Working overtime, she would make it so after a few short days of discomfort, you would wake up to a mouth full of 20 pearly whites. And when the time came to trade in the compact teeth for the SUV version, you wouldn’t have to sleep on spare change; instead you’d get a new Izod polo with matching socks (much softer = less trips to the Chiropractor later in life). These grown-up teeth would be delivered as Chicklet-shaped beauties, straight and strong. No need for teething tabs, bottles of Tylenol, or having to gag while panting through one of those mouth-molds in the Orthodontist office (which don’t taste like Bubble Gum). Ah, life would be grand.

Sadly, I believe my version of the Tooth Fairy is the truer story. And I’ve decided it is time for a WWE Tooth Fairy Smackdown. Being that I’m already awake, I was thinking about running, but in my preparation of meeting the Tooth Fairy in the Octagon – I think I’ll pop in the good-old "Tae Bo" VHS workout tape. With Billy Blank’s help, I think I’ll be able to speed bag and roundhouse the Tooth Fairy into giving up the rest of my son’s teeth – pain free.