Lauren Rabaino

Lee Barats: Yes. As real as our mortality.

You’re really gonna challenge me on this one? Listen, people. The Tooth Fairy is as real as you or me. And I have proof. Have I seen the Tooth Fairy? No, because everyone knows the Tooth Fairy only comes when you’re sleeping. Idiot. I know the Tooth Fairy is real because I have evidence. Listen up.

First off, my parents say she’s real. End of story. My parents aren’t liars, and they certainly wouldn’t lie to me about my main source of income from ages 6 to 9. In this day and age, where it’s safe to believe everything you see and hear, why would parents confuse their kids by filling their heads with fabrications? This would just create a rift of mistrust between the child and parents, thereby contributing to the downfall of the American family. Why do you hate the American family, Sean? Is it because you’re a dirty liberal?

If the Tooth Fairy is false, where do all those quarters come from? Do you think teeth just magically turn into money when you put them under your pillow? That’s absurd. Does the child’s parents take the tooth and leave the money? What about orphans, Sean? Furthermore, I don’t think many parents possess the finesse to lift a child’s pillow without waking them up. Have you seen most middle-aged people dance? They lack the coordination to pull off such an action.

It’s common knowledge that the Tooth Fairy recycles the teeth she collects. She gives these teeth to infants so they can eat solid food. If the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, how do babies get their teeth? Humans don’t just grow entire sets of teeth.

Seriously, don’t come in here trying to debate me on such an absolute truth. What are you gonna claim is fake next, the Easter Bunny? Santa Claus? Seventy percent of Pamela Anderson? Get outta here, weirdo.

Sean Michetti: No. As fake as Santa, oops.

I remember, horrifically, the moment I discovered the lie about the Tooth Fairy. It was a stormy winter night and I was snug in my bed, filled with excitement about the baby tooth that rested under my pillow. I knew that in the morning I’d have two more dollars under there, which I’d put into mutual funds. As my old grandfather clock struck midnight I heard the bedroom window creak open and a slender head appeared. Not wanting to startle the Fairy, I kept quite still, breathing only slightly.

I saw, from squinted eyes, the Fairy step one winged foot at a time into my room. By this time the anticipation of cash was building in me to an uncontrollable level. I could already feel the crisp $2 bill on my fingertips. The Tooth Fairy seemed to have other ideas though; as it crept around my room, it looked everywhere but under my pillow. As it rummaged through my dresser drawers, cursing and spitting, I could smell its Tooth Fairy scent and regretfully compared it to the aging compost pile in our garden.

I began to think the Fairy had gotten so wet from the storm that it had trouble locating my bed and tooth, so I decided to help it a little by making a noise of clearing my throat. Unfortunately, this didn’t help at all. The Tooth Fairy just froze and dropped to its knees, scampering for the window. Well I wasn’t going to let it leave without forking over my hard-earned money.

It seemed my dad was reading my mind because at this moment he slid stealthily through my bedroom door. The two must have had a past disagreement because he started yelling at the Tooth Fairy and charged him, his right hand gripping a hunting knife. The Tooth Fairy tried to fly off, but my dad caught him in the chin with a strong left uppercut. As my dad plunged his hunting knife deep into the Tooth Fairy’s abdomen, I saw a $2 bill in my dad’s back pocket.

After the police hauled the Tooth Fairy off to Pelican Bay, my dad handed me the bill with his blood-soaked hand and took my tooth. This experience taught me both that my dad is actually the Tooth Fairy and to settle all arguments with a knife battle.

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