This Ain't New York

Dear Loose Tooth,

Hi. It's me. Her mom. I need to talk to you.

You've been good to us over the years. You helped her with her very first ear of corn, her apples, her popsicles. We are thankful for that. We are.

But frankly, it's time for you to go.

This may sound a little harsh, but we don't need you anymore. She's got bigger, stronger teeth in her future. Sure, you're cute. You're little. You're familiar. But, lately? Well, you've been kind of a pain.

You just keep holding on, no matter how hard she tries to pull you free. She keeps wiggling and wiggling, twisting and tugging and still you won't budge. And that dangle thing you've been doing lately is borderline disgusting.

Your friends have all left without any trouble at all. When it came their turn, sure they held on a little while, but eventually they just let go.

I feel a little uncomfortable talking to you, but I figure you must have some issues or you would have left a long time ago. Is it insecurity? Detachment disorder? Are you afraid of fairies? Come on. Talk to me. I'm here. I won't judge you.

I have to be honest with you. You don't have much more time. My patience is wearing thin. If you don't let go soon, well, fairies will be the least of your worries, Mister.

So. Let. It. Go.

Be free. I've got a roll of quarters just waiting.

Sincerely,
Her Mom