Unfit Father

Published on July 12th, 2017 | by Richard Black

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Too Many Fairies

Another poor child under the influence of too many fairies.

My wife just bought our daughter a fairy door for Darcy’s seventh birthday and I was all right with the gift. I really was. I want my daughter to have a magical childhood. I even want it to be filled with wonder and amazement. The problem is that I don’t want to have much to do with the process.

I’m a stay at home dad and I do quite a bit on a day to day basis to make Darcy’s life magical. I magically clean her clothes. I magically clean the toilet. I even magically cook meals she doesn’t want to eat. I’m a fucking domestic magician and the last thing I need is another project to make my daughter’s life more magical which brings me to fairies.

Darcy already has a tooth fairy and an Elf on the Shelf which isn’t technically a fairy but from a parent’s standpoint is pretty much the same thing. Whether you call them elves or fairies isn’t the point. The point is that we have enough of them. It’s also a point I didn’t consider before my wife bought our daughter a fairy door but I’m not a bright man.

I’m also incredibly weak willed. Many of my daughter’s friends have fairy doors and ever since she discovered them Darcy’s been asking for one and I…well I agreed. After all what’s the worst that could happen?

Every fairy door you have is connected to every other fairy door..and the fairies they’ve been with.

The answer to that question became apparent a few minutes after Darcy opened up her gift. The fairy door is not a turn-key sort of gift. It’s not something your child opens and can immediately play with like a bottle of bourbon or a puppy. In addition to the door itself there are three little bottles of glitter, a lengthy agreement for all family members to sign and a deceptively small book with many, many pages.

There was also another bottle but not the kind I hoped for. Within it was a very, very tiny key for the fairy to use to open the door or for the child’s parents to lose shortly after it came out of the bottle.

The glitter was quickly used to decorate the door as well as half of our living room. The key was promptly lost. The agreement was signed by my daughter and myself and my wife. I’m not sure what the terms were. I have a history of signing documents without reading them but I’m pretty certain they weren’t legally binding.

The book was dutifully read by my wife as I went shopping for an industrial strength adhesive to weld the fairy door to a wall or mirror or maybe even a limb and, while I was shopping, it occurred to me that I’d made a huge mistake.

I can handle the Tooth Fairy. The Tooth Fairy is easy. I just give her a few bucks and she goes home in the morning. The Elf on the Shelf though is a different animal altogether. Up until a few years ago I’d never had an Elf on the Shelf before but they’re a lot of work. For twenty five straight days my wife and I struggled every year to place the damn thing in new locations with a small present or a touching message for our daughter.

Sometimes I had fun with it. I wrote one informative piece titled “HPV is just an STD by another name”. Our daughter’s Elf also crapped Tootsie Rolls into a toilet and passed out amidst a six pack and a bottle of pills. That however was about as much inspiration as I could muster. My creative decline coincided nicely with my wife’s decision that I shouldn’t have anything to do with the Elf on the Shelf ever again.

Now we have a fairy door. More importantly we have a fairy on the other side of the door, or essentially, an Elf on the Shelf in perpetuity for 365 days out of the year. My wife went out and bought some crafts and small gifts to have Diamond give our daughter. For my part I’ve already come up with excuses as to why the newest addition to our fairy family won’t be answering Darcy’s letters on a regular basis.

If my daughter found out that this is what her Elf on the Shelf looked like she’d…well it would probably involve a lot of therapy.

“Sorry honey your fairy had too much pixie dust and checked into the Betty Ford clinic so she’s not allowed to call or write until she’s clean for at least thirty days”.

“I just read in the paper that there were massive layoffs at fairy headquarters. Let’s just pray and hope for the best that your fairy survived the first round of cuts.”

“Honey I’m sorry. Your fairy must have stepped out for cigarettes. I’m sure she’ll be back when you’ve made something of yourself.”

I could go on but I won’t. I don’t have the time. Instead I’ll be thinking of a few hundred ways to keep my daughter’s life magical for the next few years until she loses belief in fairies or elves and learns to live a life of tedium and disappointment like the rest of us.

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