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Dear Tooth,

There is fashionably late and there is just plain rude. You are falling into the latter category.

I know, as the Tooth of my daughter, you will probably have diva tendencies. And I realise you want to keep the crowd waiting, to build a sense of anticipation and excitement.

But would you just hurry up?

I’m sick of the tears and the biting and the just-general-miserableness. I’m sick of waking every morning to see if you have arrived, only to be disappointed again. And most of all, my nipples are sick of the constant threat of extinction posed by a teething, angry baby. I like my nipples and require both of them.

I feel deeply let down that I have had to resort to writing this letter. But make no bones about it, if you continue in this selfish manner you will pay the consequences. Forget any ideas about a retirement at Tooth Fairy Castle. You will be consigned to a little box at the back of my knicker drawer, never to be seen again, along with the leopard print thong and suspenders.

I trust you will now show yourself and stop being such a nuisance.

Yours sincerely,

Mother’s Always Right