Oscar lost a tooth yesterday at school – both from his mouth, and from his actual person, due to him washing it accidentally down a drain.
When I went to fetch him at home time he was fretting about this. Worrying that the Tooth Fairy might ignore him in favour of less accident prone children.
His friend Grace reassured him:
‘It’s o.k. Oscar. I swallowed mine, and the Tooth Fairy still came, and we didn’t have to wait…’
I suspect the Tooth Fairy was delighted not to have to wait to retrieve the tooth. In fact, I wonder if Grace got extra money for not having to put her Tooth Fairy through the agony?
We went to Granny’s to get Tallulah’s singing folder before her lesson, and Oscar, still worried, confided in Granny.
Granny suggested that he write the Tooth Fairy a note, explaining what happened and saying sorry.
This troubled him.
He is, at heart, an idle git – and the thought of having to go to the effort of putting pen to paper – and indeed, saying sorry for something, was not pleasing.
He prevaricated. He wobbled. He ummed. He aahhhed.
Knowing the Tooth Fairy quite intimately, as I do, and getting slightly fed up, I strongly suggested that if Oscar did not have the common courtesy to write a note, it was very doubtful that the Tooth Fairy would bother to cough up a quid.
Quid pro quo Clarice – and all that.
When we got home, he hastily dashed off a note, which he then had to be sent back to edit, with the addition of the sorrowful nature of his person for the crimes against teeth.
It was finally finished.
Dear Tooth Fairy
Pleas give me one pound
But I carnt reepay you with a tooth because I lost it down the drain.
Love from Oscar.
P.S. I am sorry.
I love the fact he’s gone straight for the money. Bugger the frills.
That’s my boy.
By the time bed time rolled around, he was quite delighted with this note, probably deciding it had been his idea all along. He spent several minutes avoiding getting into bed by adorning it with many kisses and some rather competently drawn stars.
As I tucked him in, he announced:
‘I am so lucky, because not only am I going to get my pound, but I will also get a note from the Tooth Fairy.’
‘You might not get a note from the Tooth Fairy. You might just get your pound. I suspect the Tooth Fairy might be rather busy. Lots of people need their pounds at the moment.’
He blithely ignored this.
‘I know she will reply, because I have left the pen by the letter – so even if she only writes ‘Yes’ on it, that will be good.’
I nodded reassuringly and left the room thinking:
Regular readers will know that we have had issues with a very low quality Tooth Fairy in the Boo family. In fact, it is fair to say that her track record ranges from ‘slovenly’ to ‘appalling’.
I went to bed early last night. Too early for Tooth Fairy duties.
I impressed upon Jason the importance of the task in hand. I explained the need for some kind of written correspondence, alongside the usual funds.
He did that; ‘Woman. You are getting on my nerves. How hard can it be?’ thing with his voice.
He told me to leave the funds on the bottom step of the stairs, because then he wouldn’t be able to forget.
I ascended with a troubled mind.
I descended at six this morning, only to tread on a £1 coin on the bottom step of the stairs.
I swore, extensively, in a Dave Allen styling.
I crept back up the stairs and spent ten, precious minutes, creeping microscopically closer to the boy in the bed to deposit the cash. As he was exceedingly restless, there really wasn’t a lot to be done about the note.
I was particularly troubled at being caught because last night, in his bath he said:
‘Mama. Mia says that she caught her mummy putting the pound under her pillow and that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist.’
I am afraid I slandered Mia’s name by saying:
‘I expect Mia didn’t write a polite note to the Tooth Fairy, and the Tooth Fairy refused to give her a pound, and her mum just had to do it instead to stop Mia being disappointed in the morning.’
I accompanied this dire warning with wagging finger and much arching of eyebrows.
Oscar was duly impressed.
So – it was a damn good job I wasn’t caught this morning or my cover would have been well and truly blown.
I think he is a little miffed at the lack of reply, but not as miffed as he would have been by the lack of cold, hard, cash.
We are saved.