If you’ve been in a toy store around Christmas, then you’ve probably heard of the children’s book, The Elf on the Shelf. The book comes with a small Elf doll, who is “Santa’s helper” and moves around the house at night causing mischief and watching over the kids’ behavior. (Creepy, am I right?)
So basically, the Elf on the Shelf has got to go.
Not to mention he makes a mess. Like, all the time.
Often, we go downstairs in the morning to be met with Jolly brandishing scissors in his mittened hands, paper snowflakes strewn about the house. We put up our Christmas tree last week, and I swear five ornaments have gone missing since then.
The other morning I was trying to brush my teeth before school and couldn’t use the sink because Jolly was using it as a jacuzzi…filled with marshmallows. Anyone who I breathed on that day can blame the stench on the Elf.
Also, the book says that if anyone touches the Elf, the magic wears off. So, I was forbidden by my mother from flinging Jolly into the garbage disposal, even after he stole my car keys.
Luckily, Jolly does come with a perk or two.
For instance, my little sisters insist on baking weekly in order to leave cookies out for him, which I obviously need to taste test a few dozen times before giving to him. And, Jolly is good for blackmail. My sisters can be convinced of anything, even an inordinate amount of personal favors by saying, “I bet Jolly is watching!” My youngest sister has washed the dishes three consecutive nights since Jolly has been watching. Maybe next I can get her to do my calculus homework.
Alas, the cons outweigh the pros. Jolly must go, whether Santa brings him back to the North Pole on his sleigh or I sneak him into the nearest dumpster. I’m all about the Christmas spirit, but a girl can only take so much of that pint-sized Elf. I swear his eyes follow me when I walk past.
Even now, I can see him peeking out from my stocking. All I want for Christmas is my freedom back.