I channeled my creativity and began moving the elf half an inch down the mantle every night. This just wasn’t adventurous enough for my children, and I contemplated putting it in the attic and telling my kids that Santa had relocated Snowbelle to the Himalayas. That would allow me to have free mantle space to place my Worst Mother Ever Award.
I just couldn’t compete with the elf stories that my children heard at school. Elves all over the community were casting lines in pond bowls for cheesy goldfish. Elves were eating all the pizza rolls. Elves were wrapping toilets in festive paper. I have a hard enough time wrapping square boxes. I’m not wrapping toilets. That’s wasteful. And asinine.
The name says it all. It’s an elf. On a shelf. A shelf is where it should stay. It isn’t called Elf Making a Damn Mess in the Kitchen. Moving the thing should not require a twenty-foot ladder, bungee cords and a Pinterest log-in. It should do as it’s rhyming name implies and stay on a shelf.
Let’s get back to basics. What’s the sole purpose of the elf? Elves are supposed to be at the North Pole helping Santa make Nintendos and, most importantly, keeping children in line, right? Instead of making the elf the star of a comedy/travel show, parents should simply allow the elf to serve its purpose.
