The Tooth Fairy Dies Every Time You Stop Believing

How did it feel when, as a child only briefly acquainted with the wonders of this world, with a hitherto insatiably voracious appetite for more, you were suddenly made privvy, as with the twenty billion other slouched primates struggling with the back-breaking curse called life, to some certain disappointment - perhaps the discovery that Santa is myth or that flight is the reserved realm of ornithology, and then again only some fowls - then shrugged casually off with the grim platitude of ''oh well, that's life'' by some other body who can't (or have lost the ability to, at the hands of another like she) comprehend the magnitude of distress this causes a neophyte to the world?