My brother Jeff and I wanted money. We needed money. I was six- or seven-years-old and Jeff was eleven months younger. We sat at the base of the family’s light gray tweed couch, in a tiny alcove next to the giant Zenith console television.
I knew how I had gotten money a few times in the past: the tooth fairy had left a quarter under my pillow each time I had lost a tooth. Jeff had yet to lose his first tooth.
Jeff thought my idea was brilliant. We could get 25 cents for every tooth we had, the teeth would grow back, we’d lose them again, get paid by the tooth fairy, grow the teeth back… An unending income stream. Genius.
We counted each other’s teeth. Boy! We were going to be rich! It wouldn’t be long before we could walk to the neighborhood “dime store” and buy anything we wanted.
Both of us opted to lose our bottom front teeth first. We stuck our fingers in our respective mouths and began to wiggle.
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.
I was making good progress – my tooth was starting to move.
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.
“Jeff and Jill, what are you doing over there?” my mom called from the kitchen.
After explaining to her how Jeff and I were going to get rich, my mom exclaimed, “Jill! Your teeth don’t grow back a second time. If one of the teeth you’ve already lost comes out, it’s gone for good.”
What?!
I stopped wiggling.
I told Jeff to stop wiggling.
Thus ended our get rich scheme. Losing teeth was no longer a potential lifelong means of making money.
One of my bottom front teeth remains crooked to this day, a reminder of my lost wealth. ✿
Cute