Never is the desire to pop the Noël bubble stronger than at 3:32 a.m., when you awaken in a cold sweat because you have once again forgotten to move the bloody Xmas elf that your sweet son depends upon for his childhood’s survival. Apparently, nothing is more devastating than waking up to that slovenly creature sitting in the same spot, unmoved, and unwilling to show signs of life.
My friends, it may seem like a quaint idea, but in truth, the elf turns December into a daily cat and mouse game in which your child runs down the stairs to see what new, inventive position the damnable homunculus will present… while you sweat it out at the top of the stairs hoping your spouse moved the slippery sprite because you sure as hell didn’t! Will he be dangling from the chandelier in a jaunty stance? Maybe the little coquette is peeking out from between the Christmas tree branches? Oh, no, wait, he’s in the same flippin’ place as yesterday! What was once cute and amusing a mere 24 hours before, now only serves to disappoint the expectant pixie-acolyte.
“Why didn’t he move, Mommy?”
“Because he’s a lazy, vindictive SOB, kid.” OK, I have never said that, but I’ve wanted to.
“Mommy isn’t sure.” One remembers the drunken Saturday night haze with some level of remorse. “Sometimes they are so tired from watching and reporting back telepathically to Santa that they lose the strength to move. Plus he loves watching you at that angle, where he can see you all stretched out in your pajamas. I guess?” Gotta dial back the perv.
“Oh, well I love him watching me, too!” The mind reels- hopefully not a sign of things to come. “But if he doesn’t move again, do you think it means he’s lost his magic?”
“Impossible with your level of belief in him! I mean our level of belief, ours!”
“OK, I just hope no one has touched him. One wrong touch and it instantly makes him lose his magic.” Yeah, I’ve had dates like that. I get it, Elfie.
“No, certainly not! He’ll move tonight. I can feel it!” Note to self….
Listen, I’m a Santa-and-all-things-enchanted advocate, but let me tell, you, that freakin’ elf blows. He’s a high maintenance, all-take-and-no give sort of guy. Avoid him like the plague! Of course, if your kid asks for one, it’s tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet. Plainly put: you’re screwed. Off to the impromptu Christmas store set up in your local strip mall sometime in August to make sure you were good and sick and tired of the holidays by mid September.
Yes, it’s truly exhausting to come up with daily never-before-seen places and stances for this poorly articulated imp. But we do it for the children! We do it for love! It adds to the mystery that is Christmas- or so I keep telling myself. Anywho, I’m so well-versed at this point that I am currently writing a “kama sutra for dummies” on elf positions. Relax, people, it’s clean!
Sheesh- and bah, humbug!