My big TV break

I lost a tooth recently. Not in a cute, baby way but in a grown up “my face is calling it a day” sort of way. It made me nostalgic for the days when losing a tooth meant a visit from the tooth fairy. The childlike wonder I felt in the morning when my tooth had been replaced with between 96p and £1.03 depending on the markets (my Dad worked in finance) is something I’ve never been able to recapture as a grown up. 

Losing a tooth made me reflect on how my adulthood is going so far. I think I’m doing okay. I got my A level results seven years ago and now I work in a Post Office, own several hats, and sometimes buy pizza that isn’t even on offer. I guess you could say I’m a yuppie if 25 counts as young, Bedminster counts as urban, and postal work counts as a profession.

I’ve even got a degree in Spanish which I mainly use to snidely point out translation errors in the Mexican Simpsons. Why couldn’t they use Barney’s original burp? Does a Mexican burp really sound that different? My degree means I have a wealth of useless knowledge about Spanish culture. For example, I know that the Spanish equivalent of the tooth fairy is called Ratoncito Pérez (Pérez the Mouse). He works in much the same way as the tooth fairy except he’s a mouse and so presumably makes his escape by land rather than air. He’s also the face of Venezuelan Colgate which is surely a conflict of interest if his entire livelihood depends on children losing their teeth.

I didn’t leave my tooth out for either the tooth fairy or Ratoncito Pérez. My penchant for eating Tracker bars in bed means that I have enough trouble with mice as it is without actively encouraging them to visit from overseas. Instead, I tossed it down my bedroom sink and lamented the lack of magic in my life as I watched it disappear.

About a month later my sink became blocked. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the tooth but it seems pretty clogged. What happens in my sink stays in my sink. I’ve tried everything. I poured some vinegar and baking soda down there but that only seemed to make the sink angry. My culinary skills are basic enough that I didn’t have either of these things in the kitchen and had to buy them especially. It’s sobering to think that my sink eats a more varied diet than I do. Maybe I’ll pour some lobster and champagne down there next.

When this failed I bought a plunger from Wilkinson’s on which they had helpfully written “Take the Plunge”. I’m glad Wilkinson’s do puns now. I wonder if they’re hiring writers. I’ve got some pretty good stuff about duvet covers if the price is right.

This was my second visit to Wilkinson’s in as many days. The day before I’d bought a lamp in an effort to make my bedroom seem classier. As it turns out plunging a sink by lamplight is only marginally more glamorous than doing it in the cold light of day. “Mood lighting” is less effective when the mood in question is despair.

As I plunged away unsuccessfully my frustration grew. It was not a rewarding experience. Plunging a sink is like milking a rat that hates you (I imagine). I gave a particularly vigorous plunge and my elbow slipped, knocking my television off its stand and onto the floor. I’d always assumed that if I ever smashed a telly it would be by throwing it out of the window of a fancy hotel, not as part of a poorly-lit plumbing accident, but life is full of surprises. The television was clearly beyond repair and I had no idea how to get rid of it. “Just leave it on the pavement”, my girlfriend advised. “It’ll be gone by the morning”.

I was skeptical but I took the telly outside and placed it lovingly on the curb by my house. I woke up the next morning and, sure enough, the TV had vanished. I don’t know if it was a fairy, a Spanish mouse or a Bedminster resident with an eye for a bargain but, for the first time in years, my sense of childlike wonder had returned.