So long, farewell 

Hallelujah, he is gone!  I don’t have to see that little bastard for a year.   After I put the kids to bed I’m going to have a glass of wine and relax.  I’m talking about the “Elf on the Shelf.”  I buried that sucker in a box in a closet.   It’s beneath my high school yearbooks and coats from the late 1990s that I’m hanging on to just in case they come back in style.  You never know when the windbreaker will be cool again.  One style I hope never comes back is women  wearing men’s boxer shorts as shorts.  My friends and I would tuck the front of our shirt into the boxers and strut around town like we were something special.   

We didn’t have the Elf on the Shelf until this year.  I  caved  to peer pressure.  I didn’t think it was possible at my age.   I make my own decisions.  I proved the day I bought my minivan that I don’t care if people think I am cool.  However, I do care about my children’s happiness.  My daughter came home  from school on a daily basis asking, “When is the Elf coming to our house?”  She heard tales from friends at school of their toy elf’s shenanigans.  

 So, I bought  the “Elf on the Shelf.”   I spent $30 to give myself even more work this holiday season.  The creepy elf had to be in a different spot every morning.  My daughter was halfway down the stairs on day two of the Elf’s visit before I realized I forgot to move that little sucker.   I panicked and yelled  for her to stop.  The sound of my voice screeching in an otherwise quiet house scared the hell out of her.   The rest of the family was still asleep.  She cried.  I apologized, but am certain that will warrant at least two therapy sessions when she is older.  

One morning the Elf was riding a decorative reindeer.  My daughter giggled with delight.  I patted myself on the back.   By the 21st of December I was out of creative ideas.  The Elf was parked on the tree and didn’t move until today.  I told the kids the Elf was waiting to greet Santa Claus.  Meanwhile, their friends Elf  was putting toy wrestlers in headlocks, pooping out Hershey Kisses and dancing with Barbie.  I don’t have time for this nonsense. Why does the Elf have to move anyway?  It is the Elf ON THE SHELF.   It is not the Elf HANGING FROM A LIGHT FIXTURE or the Elf SITTING ON A TOY CAR.  The instructions are simple.  Quite frankly, I’m a little concerned my children actually believe this toy comes alive, but the rest do not. They saw Toy Story.   I’m not playing this game next year.  They will have to go back to thinking Santa has hidden cameras in the house.   It’s creepy, but doesn’t require me to do anything, but make empty threats.  

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