Dear Tooth Fairy

by Alison Lebovitz

Now that I am officially in my forties (okay, so I just turned forty-one), I am desperately hanging on to all of the things I took for granted when I was in my twenties and thirties – my wrinkle-free skin, my ability to function on less than seven hours of sleep, my short-term memory, my long-term memory, and most importantly, my teeth.

Yes, you read that right – my teeth. A few weeks ago I had to have one of my back teeth pulled. It was cracked and much to my dismay I was told that fixing even a small crack in a tooth is not as simple as fixing a small crack in your windshield. And certainly not as cheap. To make matters worse, the doctor never gave me my tooth. So I had nothing to put under my pillow. And since I had nothing under my pillow (do you see where this is going?) there has been absolutely no sign of the Tooth Fairy. So, in the event that the Tooth Fairy happens to read this column, I decided to pen and publish the following letter to her:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

It certainly has been a while, and I really hope you remember me. The last time you visited me was around 1979, before I got my braces, and I was living in Birmingham, Alabama. Oh and my last name wasn’t Lebovitz back then, it was Goldstein. Ring any bells?  Anyway, you may not realize this but last month I lost a tooth. Apparently, when my parents explained to me years ago that the baby teeth fall out to make room for your permanent teeth, they failed to prepare me for this third phase in the equation. Unfortunately, I am not actually in possession of said tooth, but I know this won’t be a problem because of the “Pickle Incident of 1978” when I bit into that pickle at day camp and accidentally swallowed my tooth with it. Remember that? Good times, good times. Even though I didn’t have a tooth to put under my pillow my parents assured me that you would know I had lost it and sure enough, there was a crisp one dollar bill under my pillow the very next morning.

So, Ms. Fairy, imagine my disappointment when I woke up the day after my oral surgery without a tooth or any sign that you had been there. In fact, all I found under my pillow was a ragged piece of gauze that had evidently fallen out of my mouth in the middle of the night. I was not happy. And not just because the left side of my mouth was completely swollen, I had a bruise the size of Texas on my cheek and I basically looked like a rabid chipmunk. It’s because if there is one thing I always knew I could count on and believe in [insert pregnant pause] it’s you.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for all the times you left me little treasures and notes, and for the dozens of times you have visited my own children over the past few years. And I guess I could look on the bright side. I do have one less tooth to brush and floss these days. And sometimes when I eat Lucky Charms for breakfast, I later find one of the marshmallows stuck in the hole where my tooth used to be, and it is still magically delicious. But, I still don’t understand why you never came to visit?  And frankly, the tooth I lost had to be at least four times the size of one of those baby teeth you collect.

I am not sure what else there is to say. If you were Dirty Fairy, I could say, “Go ahead, make my day.” If you were Fairy Maguire I would yell, “Show me the money!” But instead, you seem more like Fairy David these days, so I guess I should just curb my enthusiasm.

Thanks for listening, Tooth Fairy. And if it’s okay with you, I’ll just plan on holding on to the rest of the teeth I still have.

Sweet Dreams,

Alison Goldstein Lebovitz