I Have Met the Elf on the Shelf and it is Myself
I need someone with greater anthropological insight than I to explain to me the cult of The Elf on the Shelf. What the hell is going on people? I keep reading posts about friends and acquaintances who have spent more than ten dollars (ten dollars! that’s a really good glass of red wine at a very nice restaurant!) on this item. The shelf elf has a pseudo-retro appearance with a Kewpie-esque face and it wears a red onesie outfit and elvish hat. See how hideously ridiculous that sentence was? I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say beyond sharing just terrifying The Elf on the Shelf is to gaze upon. It gives Chuckie a run for its money.
And people are putting The Elf not just on shelves, but also tables, cribs, Christmas trees-you name it. Some even move their elf around in order to keep their young children on their toes. The Elf is watching you. Always watching you. See that? He’s in the kitchen now watching you steal your sister’s pop tart. He just saw you slurp your milk. Don’t look now, but he beat you to the bathroom, you better wash your hands if you don’t want the wrath of The Elf to be unleashed upon you. It doesn’t matter if you name The Elf something adorable like Tuck, Midgie, or Ochocinco, he’s still a stalker who can’t be reined in once you let him out of the box. He’s got but one mission in life and it is to keep tabs on children and catch them being naughty.
The photographs of children interacting with the shelf elf are all very suspect. The Elf is aloof, he is not about to pal up with your kid, unless your kid is the social equivalent of a CIA operative on the preschool playground. Then maybe there could be a meeting of the minds. Otherwise, trust me, The Elf is not baking, coloring, wrapping gifts, or reading with your cherub. The Elf is gaining intel for the coming apocalypse. Stop worrying about zombies people, and start worrying about plush decorations that resent only being let out once a year. Stock up on water, batteries, and David Sedaris holiday essays in preparation for the battle over the soul of Christmas future. The war is coming. You’ve been warned.