I remember the first time I saw him: I was at Barnes and Noble with a few friends, one of whom purchased the complete Elf on the Shelf package. My first thought (and probably words): “That thing is CREEPY!!” My pal swore that the little gremlin helped keep her son in line in the days leading up to Christmas. Don’t get me wrong: I’m all for exploiting holiday goodness in exchange for a squashed toddler tantrum. But I have limits. And that friggin’ elf is the limit.
I just can’t bring myself to invite that strange creature into my house. His unblinking, plastic eyes follow me, judging me, and I believe he comes alive while we’re sleeping. No? Perhaps you should check out the Child’s Play movies. Special shout-out to my aunt and uncle who used to babysit my 10-year-old self and my little brother and let us watch that horrific flick. Didn’t scar us for life or anything…
Back to the Elf.
I love elves; they’re helpers, and who doesn’t love a helper? I love the movie Elf; you will, too—check out the link for some of the funniest moments. If they don’t elicit even a giggle from you, we probably shouldn’t be friends.
Back to the Elf. Again.
We will never have one. Period. But I’m digging the premise behind it, so I’m looking into a Plan B. Reindeer on the Roof? Snowman on the Stairs? Penguin on the Potty? I can get a cute plush something-or-other and replace that satanic midget, right? (Just don’t tell him I said that; no need to upset him and then have him come seeking his revenge.)