A friend posted on Facebook that her daughter lost her first tooth.
Think about that for a second.
Santa gets one night. 364 other nights lay bare, ripe for visits from magical entities. But December 24? That’s all his.
And in waltzes the god damn Tooth Fairy.
All sweetness and light. Pretending like she’s not all up in Santa’s territory.
Santa finally squeezes his fat ass down the chimney, shakes off the creosote, sorts himself out. He tiptoes around the house. He senses something is amiss.
Out of the kids’ room saunters the Tooth Fairy.
“Oh heeeeey, Santa! How’s tricks?”
“Tricks? TRICKS? I’ve been busting my butt to get around the damn world tonight, dodging jets, putting up with prima donna reindeer, I get here, and you’re hogging my spotlight? Not cool, not cool.”
“Come on, why you gotta be like that? I can’t control when teeth fall out! And at the end of the day, we’re not so different, you and I. Breaking and entering, doing what is probably illegal surveillance 24/7….neither one of us comes out of this looking so good.”
At the end of the day, I just don’t see Santa being cool with it.
And I can’t say I blame him.
(Santa image from here.)