*Warning: This post is not for the weak of stomach. If the title got you, don't bother reading the rest.
A little background for you:
My husband is a marathon runner. Like a lot of runners who put on miles by the double digits, this means that he loses the occasional toenail. The nails rub against the top of the shoe over and over until it kills the nail; it grows out and a new one grows underneath. It's a fact of life for many long distance runners.
After he lost the first one, he grossed Lindsey out by making her believe he had put it in her tooth box, the one she puts under her pillow for the tooth fairy to find when she loses a tooth. You should've seen her open that box when she thought there was a toenail in there -- she held it at arm's length and had a grimace on her face until she opened it and found nothing inside.
The next toenail he found, he told her that if he put it in her tooth box, she might actually trick the tooth fairy into leaving a dollar for it. So she agreed to let him put it in her tooth box. Lo and behold, the tooth fairy left her a dollar as a reward, but forgot to leave a note. (This is what happens when dad plays the tooth fairy.)
Lindsey is kind of curious about whether or not the tooth fairy exists, especially since a good friend of hers informed her that her parents just pretend to be the tooth fairy. But we've explained that every little girl and boy has their own special tooth fairy, and that hers must like her a lot since she accepts toenails that aren't even her own in exchange for a dollar.
Yes Virginia, the toenail fairy exists.