Let me begin by first telling you I am not given to flights of fancy or wild imaginings. I have a serious profession, and like you, try earnestly each day to be a good citizen, and decent person. That being said, I wish to speak to you on the subject of Fairy folk.      It is said in lore, that these small beings are credited with performing wondrous acts for humans, such as granting wishes and making dreams become reality. They also have a reputation for being inveterate pranksters, playing tricks on mortals, But I have become aware of another sect, or class of these imps. Their charge seems to be to intercede on our behalf, with the mundane things of each day. As an example; have you ever lost something, and then frantically scoured every inch of your environment trying to locate it, only to find it in an obvious spot you're certain you had already checked several times? I believe it is this working class group of these wee folk, who actually found your lost treasure and placed it where you were most likely to find it. I can hear your chortles, and sense your disbelief, but scoff not dear friends. For I have seen one of these industrious tiny beings with my own rational eyes, in my own home.      When my labors are completed for the day, and the world and I are finished with one another, I return to my abode. In the late evening I retreat to my study with a good book, and take my leisure in a fine old comfortable chair. Next to the chair is a small round wooden table. On the table, sits a decanter of a well aged favorite libation, and a sifter. It is my custom to pour myself several swallows into the glass. and sip upon it as I read. As I become engrossed in the story, I will finish the sifter and absently refill it. This is how I met my Fairy. I do not know her true name, but I call her Temperance.     It is apparently her duty, which she assiduously carries out, to measure, and monitor the level of the contents of my decanter. When she determines it has dropped precipitously enough for the evening, she stalks forward to the edge of my round table, to stand and stare at me. She never speaks, but draws my attention to her with a soft throat clearing of "Ahem" Her expression is most often a sort of bemused deprecation; much like that of a kind but disapproving little sister. Her gaze, and the fact that I actually see her is enough to convince my slightly befuddled brain that perhaps I have imbibed enough for the evening. I dutifully mark and close my book, finish the remaining contents of the sifter, bid her a good night, and toddle off to bed, warm and relaxed, rather than inebriated. All thanks to my polite diligent little decanter Fairy.