It’s going to be Piccadilly Circus in our beach apartment tonight; we are expecting both Father Christmas and the tooth fairy. Mini-Me lost one of her front teeth, only slightly prematurely, after she collided with the swimming pool steps. She is, understandably, curious as to whether the deliverers will arrive as a team, salute in the darkness or even frighten each other?
I should imagine the tooth fairy will visit earlier in the evening. She will have a busy day herself to look forward to tomorrow with little tooth fairies’ stockings to fill and fairy food to prepare for her tooth fairy helpers. Flightier than the big fat Father C, she can tick her to-dos off before midnight and journey home in a sparkle.
More to the point, after his UK-dose of port and dozens of mince pies, the big man might not even notice the Tinkerbell lookalike. I’ll leave him a cold Budweiser and a bowl of Cracker Jack popcorn and hope he treats any fluttering pixie with respect.
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