Dear Senator Ernst,

A LETTER FROM THE TOOTH FAIRY

Oh, hi. It's me — the Tooth Fairy. Yes, that Tooth Fairy. The nocturnal dental philanthropist who leaves shiny coins and a fleeting sense of childhood wonder under pillows that, thanks to people like you, now double as triage units for medical bankruptcies. I was fluttering through the Midwest last week, minding my business, slipping a fifty-cent piece to a kid whose mom just got laid off from her third job, when — BAM! — my name gets dropped into your dystopian stand-up routine.

“Glad I didn’t have to bring up the Tooth Fairy,” you said, standing in a f**king cemetery, wearing your Sunday smug, smirking like you just solved poverty by smothering it with a pillow. I stopped mid-wingbeat. A bicuspid fell out of my sack. A raccoon stared at me. We both whispered, what the fuck?

Senator Ernst, I may be a mythical winged being with a glimmer budget and a strict no-blood policy, but even I know what that was: a non-apology drenched in sarcasm and embalmed in privilege. You filmed it in a graveyard. A graveyard. The only thing missing was a fog machine and a tax cut for oil executives. I’ve seen haunted doll TikToks that show more empathy. I’ve met actual ghouls with better bedside manner. And yes, I know ghouls — we all share the same break room since Trump's visit to Moscow in 1987.

I’ve spent centuries crawling through kid breath and plush toy carnage, but your cemetery clip? That’s the first time I considered early retirement. Or mass arson. I haven’t decided.

You think this is about metaphor? Lady, I collect teeth. I know rot when I smell it. And your Medicaid policy? It reeks like a molar left under a pillow in July. Do you know what it's like to fly into a trailer park in Council Bluffs and find out a child’s tooth is still bleeding because his mom couldn’t afford stitches and the urgent care clinic got turned into a vape shop? Do you know what it’s like to land on a windowsill and overhear a kid ask if a fairy can also bring insulin? Do you know what it's like to pull a cracked incisor out from under a girl’s head because she clenched her jaw so hard in pain it shattered her baby tooth, and then realize her dad was just denied disability?

But go ahead. Tell your jokes. Flash those veneered press conference teeth and talk about how “we’re all going to perish from this Earth.”

Spoiler alert: you’re not the Grim Reaper, Senator. You’re just cosplaying as one on C-SPAN.

And while we’re at it — the Tooth Fairy doesn’t do death announcements. I do hope. I do dreams. I do tiny glitter envelopes with nickels inside. And sometimes, when no one’s watching, I leave a note saying “You’re going to be okay,” even though I know I’m lying — because your colleagues slashed food stamps to buy fighter jets and told kids in wheelchairs to just “bootstrap harder.”

But you? You think “we’re all going to die” is a punchline. You think sarcasm is leadership. You think if you say it with enough sass, we’ll forget that you just voted to let your constituents die waiting in line at a pharmacy that no longer accepts Medicaid. And then you smeared lipstick on that insult, strutted through a field of tombstones, and uploaded it to Instagram like it was a goddamn vacation reel.

Lady, I’m a being of magic. I’ve survived centuries of skepticism, Republican budget cuts, and one god-awful rebrand by Hallmark in 1983. I have seen shit. But nothing prepared me for the moment when a U.S. Senator turned into a cryptkeeper Karen and used my name to make light of a healthcare crisis.

I work nights. I pay no taxes. I have no lobby. I answer to no one.

But mark my words: I’m coming for your legacy the way I come for baby teeth — quietly, persistently, and one extraction at a time.

In the meantime, leave my name out of your mouth.

Sincerely,

🦷 The Tooth Fairy

Unlicensed, Unbothered, and Unfuckwithable

P.S. I did a job at Mitch McConnell’s house last week. Let’s just say it was… harrowing. His teeth didn’t fall out — they retreated. I had to coax them out with a priest, a crowbar, and the sound of Nancy Pelosi clapping. One molar whispered “Citizens United” before it disintegrated into dust. I left a sticky note on his nightstand that said, “You’re next.”

P.P.S. If you ever mention me again, I’ll unionize every elf, sprite, and childhood icon in the goddamn Northern Hemisphere. Even the Easter Bunny’s pissed. You’ve awakened ancient forces you don’t understand.

P.P.P.S. We don’t all perish, Joni. Some of us get remembered. Some of us get recycled. And some of us get removed for being impacted, infected, and entirely unnecessary.

Guess which one you are.

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