My Dearest Brennan,
I'm on my way to Toledo where there was an unfortunate accident involving a soccer ball and a nine year-old's face leading to his immediate need of payment for not one--but THREE teeth. I must say, I skipped your house last night because just when I was about to open your window, I heard you tell your brother that you no longer believed in the Tooth Fairy! You swore that you saw your mother sneaking out of your room last month with the note in her hand. (Remember? When you accidentally swallowed your tooth at lunch with your peanut butter sandwich so you had to write me a letter and draw a picture of it? By the way, smashing picture of a tooth!)
Anyway, I want you to know I skipped you and your tooth last night because you hurt my feelings. (sniff) How on earth could you possibly believe that your mother--who usually has a glass of wine or three by 10pm--could actually make it in and out of your booby-trapped room without waking you up? (yes, I know all about the ropes and nets--do you really think you can catch a fairy?) However, you most certainly would catch your dexterously challenged mother should she venture in to check on you....and then she might have to spend like an hour and a half trying to reset the traps while giggling so hard she brained herself on your dresser, tripped over your skateboard, and landed in your leggo box where the space man made a most interesting bruise on her hiney.....all hypothetically, of course....should she attempt to go in.
Yes, well--you'd better stop all this nonsense about not believing in me. Next time I might not be so forgiving. Your mother called me this morning and told me you were sorry--you owe her big. Like I think you should take out the trash for a week.....and clean your room.
And maybe make her a card.
The Tooth Fairy