Spoiler Alert: The Tooth Fairy isn’t real. If you’re a small child or someone who somehow didn’t already know this, please stop reading. Also, go back to the first sentence and unread it.

With that out of the way, I would like to tell you how I know this. When I was a kid and lost my bazillionth tooth (I have a lot of teeth. I’m part shark, apparently), I put my tooth in the little pocket of the pillowcase my parents had given me for the nights the Tooth Fairy was supposed to visit. I rested my rosy little cheek upon my pillow and closed my eyes and drifted softly off to dreamland, imaging the piles and piles of candy I would be able to purchase with the quarter that would be left for me.

Not long after, I was awakened by the sound of a thundering herd of rhinoceri (didn’t you know that that was the plural of rhinoceros?!) charging down the hallway. Timidly, I crept to the door and peeked around the corner, only to discover that it was actually my dad, arms flapping daintily, flitting about merrily on tippy toe in front of the bathroom door to make my mom laugh while she was brushing her teeth. Didn’t he know that was a choking hazzard?! Way to go, Dad.

When confronted, he tried to claim that he was actually the Tooth Fairy’s representative for the southeastern United States. But I did a thorough check and he did not have a pair of wings, and that’s not even remotely practical. What, was he going to drive to every state within his district to hand out money?! As if.

Thus, he dashed all of my dreams, which also alerted me to the whole thing about Santa. I won’t spoiler alert you on that one – wouldn’t want to ruin it for anyone not in the know. All for a cheap laugh from his wife – doin’ marriage right. Parenting, though? Meh.

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).