In today’s hectic work environment where we’re constantly bombarded by information, cell phone calls, and multiple duties, it’s understandable if we forget a task or two. I know I’ve been on the drive home more than once when I realized I’d forgotten to call this guy or get something done I was supposed to do two weeks ago. Stuff like that happens. It’s all a part of the normal workday.

That’s why I’ve chosen to forgive the Tooth Fairy. Recently, the winged worker hasn’t shown up a couple of times to collect my daughters’ teeth. To her credit, she always doubles the anty the next night. I guess the stress of collecting all those baby teeth each and every night is starting to get to her, and her job performance is suffering.

Being the Tooth Fairy must be tough work. It’s not like her job has the regularity that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny enjoy. Those guys work one day a year. The Tooth Fairy is like a surgeon on–call. She must spring into action late at night any given night of the week. She also doesn’t have the luxury of hiding presents under a tree away from the curious eyes of her clients and she can’t just leave a basket in the hallway. The Tooth Fairy must sneak into the child’s room, search desperately under pillows, baby dolls, Teddy bears, and whatever else may be in the bed for a tiny little tooth without waking her toothless clientele. Then, unlike her working compatriots, she has to leave cold, hard cash. What can the resale value of a tooth be anyway? It’s remarkable she’s done so well for so long.

The Tooth Fairy performs her job with little– to–no fanfare. Those other guys get cookies, parades, and television shows. The Tooth Fairy gets slightly bloody teeth that may be half–rotten with pieces of Oreo on them. If I were her I would have checked into the Neverland gig a long time ago. Sure she would have to deal with pirates, little boys, some travel, and the occasional swooning visitor, but the work is basically nine–to–five and there are no teeth. That fact alone would sell me.

But luckily for all the snaggle–toothed little children all over the world, the Tooth Fairy is much more dedicated to her work than I could ever be. She keeps sneaking into houses under the cover of darkness, risking her life and her identity for those tiny teeth. She doesn’t need a four–story Bart Simpson float to welcome her into town, and she doesn’t require her clientele to hunt for eggs or leave her a cold glass of milk and some cookies. She’s too professional for such things.

While the other guys get holidays, the Tooth Fairy gets teeth. She doesn’t complain or even leave lumps of coal. She’s a working class girl with wings, and if she has to come a night or two after the tooth extraction every once in a while, I’m OK with that.

I just hope my kids are too.