Mount Pleasant Magazine July/August 2017

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smiling faces
Like any job, being a Tooth Fairy comes with its
advantages and disadvantages. The advantages
are what most of us think about and what keep
most of us working – the opportunity to slip
into a window in the middle of the night and wedge a
crisp dollar bill (or more, or less, depending on the child’s
report) beneath a fluffy pillow; to flutter among bright
stars on a warm South Carolina evening; to change my
outfit according to my mood (we fairies have killer closets);
and to know the DNA of every child I’ve ever loved.
Those are all great perks of the gig, don’t get me wrong.
But when Mount Pleasant Magazine asked me to pen an
essay about my life as the local Tooth Fairy for their annual
Smiling Faces supplement, I decided I’d better keep it real.
And the real deal is that being the Tooth Fairy can be hard
sometimes. I’m not just talking about the gross stuff, like
when a kid hasn’t brushed in a while and the particular
tooth falls out of his mouth looking all fuzzy and I have to
pick it up – or, worse, when a tooth is caked in dried blood
and I have to stop and take the tiny vial of hand sanitizer
out of my glittery dress and douse myself before the grimy
little brat stirs from slumber. Nope, I’m talking about the
part of my life that you might call a little bit … gangster. I
mean, did you think we local Tooth Fairies get to keep ALL
of the teeth we collect for ourselves – or that we somehow
come up with ALL the money we dole out without the help
of other fairies who are higher up on the hierarchy? Well,
think again. It can be a mighty risky business.
I guess I should start by explaining how I became
a Tooth Fairy for Mount Pleasant. I was an ordinary
fairy beforehand, doing things like sniffing flowers and
hanging out with other fairies. Then I was approached one
afternoon by this sinister-looking fairy sitting in a gigantic
plant outside of a dentist’s office whose name won’t be
mentioned. The fairy motioned me over. I cautiously
approached, and he spoke in a whisper.
“You up for engaging in a little business?”
“What kind of business?” I asked with one brow raised.
“Oh, don’t worry; it’s wholesome. Being a Tooth Fairy.
I know the main guy in Charleston County, and they need
a new gal for these parts. You look perfect for the part.”
He explained what I would have to do – deliver cash
to kids (their parents would decide on the amount, based
on conduct), then pick up the teeth and deliver them to
the Head Fairy in Charleston County, who would sell the
teeth on the black market. (You can really do that. Look
it up.) The money made from the teeth would pay fellow
tooth fairies, fund our supply closet and, of course, go to
kids whose parents were financially strapped.
It sounded good to me – a great way to give back to