The Tooth Fairy

She reminds me of the teacher I never had. You know - the one who is proper and evil, the one whose dress is meticulously neat and ironed, the one who carries herself as an aristocrat, the one who is extremely economical with words, the one who is simply too perfect and the one that you hate.

By now, you would have gotten a mental image of her. She has a small face with hollowed cheeks. Her thinning silver hair is pulled tightly back into a small knot. She wears oval glasses, although pince-nez would have fitted her better. Thin shapely eyebrows provide the backdrop for her penetrating gaze whose intensity sometimes tingles your skin. Her diction is clear as the last drop of a rain and she is the master of subtly altering the stress and the pause to convey varying levels of disappointment and cynicism without ever having to raise her voice.

You have shown immense capacity for suffering. You continue to defy the nature's laws in terms of how much punishment a human being can take. Today, let us see what is your true potential. Let us do this without anaesthesia.

Did I hear her correctly? Perhaps she is joking. Could it be that she has discovered her lighter side after all these years?

If you could just open your mouth as wide as your eyes are, we would be done in no time at all.

I realize that this is the nightmare I never had. I ask if this means that there would not be any pain?

No. There will be pain. In fact, I would ensure that there is pain so that I know when I have reached the roots.

Will it be alright if I dashed through the door right now?

Dont even think about that and you will be alright.

In comes a vacuum hose, a clamp, a rubber sheet, a rubber sheet holder, few cotton pads. Now, she is trying to violate my mouth with a motorized needle.

You know you can help me in more ways than one.

I think about acting on her whispery and graceful taunt. After a careful consideration, I change my mind and decide to gag instead.

Out comes a vacuum hose, a clamp, the rubber sheet and the holder, few damp cotton pads and the motorized needle.

What happened? Are we going to do it today?

I want to blame it on performance anxiety. I decide against and explain to her that in such a tormenting setting, I can only do one thing at a time. Something simple like breathing.

Really? You manage to do a fine job of shaking, salivating, drooling, choking and crying; all at the same time.

I look at her in disbelief and terror. She holds her admonishing stare.

A smile breaks through the tough exterior and then an uncontrollable laugh. I join in.

I wonder if she records such encounters for future playback. I hope I am one of her choicest collections.