Can you believe that the holiday season is already here and in full swing? I mean… where the shit did fall go? It feels like the weather snapped from “you’ll be drenched in ball sweat even though you’re female and therefore do not have balls… unless you consider the ones on your chest to be your breasticles, and then maybe. But only maybe.” straight to booger-cicle weather. I didn’t even get to wear my really cute jacket more than a few times, and honestly- that’s a fucking travesty- because now I’m stuck looking like the abominable snow-woman since I loathe cold weather and must wrap myself like a fleshy burrito.
Where is the time going? And why is it going so fast? Are the powers that be really THAT hellbent on forcing me into and out of my last year of 20’s, and therefore causing me to have a full blown conniption and earn an extended stay in a lovely white jacket with buckles? I mean, that might be in style… but I’d rather not.
I’m just having a really hard time accepting that it’s already time to start slamming turkey and sugar cookies into our faces; that it’s already about time to begin decking the halls. I don’t WANT to deck my halls. I am not ready to see pictures of Christmas trees, or wrapped up presents, or fall-colored centerpieces surrounded by cranberry chutney and casserole dishes full of green bean casserole (even if I LOVE to eat them both). I am not ready for the traffic to go absolutely fucking insane and to not be able to get ANYWHERE in town in under 30 minutes. I’m already tired of people bragging about being done with holiday shopping, only because it reminds me that I honestly haven’t even begun. I am NOT ready to put up a Christmas tree and deal with having to constantly nag my little turds not to fucking touch the ornaments 25 times per day, or to witness the dog’s reaction to all of it. Or to clean up the messes I am sure they will all make. And I’m REALLY not ready to be seeing my Facebook Newsfeed full of pictures of Elf on a Shelf wreaking havoc on friends’ homes.
I have mostly gotten over my bah-humbugging of the holiday season as a whole. I don’t dread it anymore… or curse about it, or break out in hives, or refuse to put up a tree. I still can’t stand Christmas music (but I know all the words), and no way in hell will I ever gag down a bite of fruitcake- but these days, with two little buggers, I sort of enjoy the holidays. The decorations and the magic and the baking and the food- it’s all quite…. lovely. That was only slightly painful to type.
The one thing that I refuse to EVER accept, participate in, or react to with any kind of positivity has been narrowed down to one little thing: Elf on a Shelf.
Look, I KNOW- people love the little fucker. THEY LOVE HIM. And I get it… sorta. I get that he (or she.. or it… whatever) is meant to be there to keep an eye on the kids, as the right hand man of Mr. Claus himself, to make sure that they are being nice and not naughty and blaahhhh blah blah. I know that all my friends and their mothers seem to participate in this, and think it’s just the absolute most fun thing on the face of the earth- but I refuse. I will not have any part of Elf on a Shelf.
I cannot be alone here! I can’t be the only one who detests the little fucker- and of course I have my reasons.
Let me get one thing straight here- so… This Elf, who “reports back to Santa”- moves all over the living room, or wherever this “shelf” is, while the kids are sleeping… y’know, to prove he’s alive and all. And occasionally this Elf makes a giant mess in the process.
So, basically, what you’re telling me, is we parents have to move this turd around, make the mess- and then clean it up afterward… only to do it ALL over again until Christmas? Seriously?
No, really… seriously?
I know what you pro-Elfers are thinking. The KIDS are supposed to clean it up- Santa IS watching after all and they need to prove they are worthy of the Nice list. And you should know that I considered that, but if we’re being realistic here- my kids wouldn’t give two tiny shits about cleaning up a mess made by an Elf that is supposedly employed by the round cookie eater. Even if I threatened them with no presents. Then I would be left with the decision of whether or not to chuck them onto the naughty list and fill their stockings with twigs and coal- and if we’re still being realistic here- that’s not gonna happen either.
So yeah, I’d have to clean that shit up. Pass.
Even if I could get past all that and find setting up a staged scene with an Elf every single night “cute” or “fun” or part of the holiday spirit, or useful… or WHATEVER reason you may have for plopping its fake ass on a shelf in your house… there would still be one huge problem:
ELF ON A SHELF TERRIFIES ME.
I’m a grown ass woman, and a little fake Elf in a fuzzy red costume terrifies me. That’s right, I’m not ashamed.
And it’s not just because his painted on creepy little “I’m going to kill you” smirk and fixed “follow you around the room” eyes look eerily similar to characters from horror movies.
|SHUT THE FRONT DOOR|
|SERIOUSLY. SHUT THE FREAKING FRONT DOOR
I’d like to see you put those mofos on your mantle!
It’s also not just because my aunt told me when I was little that when I went to sleep- my dolls came to life and played with my hair and I NEVER touched a doll again.
Okay, I lied. It is exactly those reasons as to why I want to kill Elf on a Shelf with fire.
I am deathly afraid that this little creature I place in my house to keep my turdy kids well behaved from November- December, that I would have to re-position each night to keep the ruse going… would ACTUALLY come to life while I slept and kill me. You can’t tell me you don’t look into that frozen face and think “Mass murderer”- YOU CAN’T!
If you think he’s cute… well… that’s exactly what that creepy mo-fo wants. Sleep with one eye open. Or a baseball bat. Preferably both.
I’ll be over here drooling and snoring without worrying about a mischievous elf smothering me.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.