Twas the night before December and in the front seat of my car, my daughter was scowling. I figured I’d spread the cheer by reminding her of a yearly visitor…
Are you excited? Only one more day until Elfie is back.
Her eyes became exaggeratedly big. Her tone switched to that 14-year-old tone that drips with sarcasm.
Oh yes. So much! I can’t wait for the Elf to come back!
She turned to her friend in the backseat.
Sara, are you soooo excited for your elf? Oooo. I am. My elf is coming back.
Then her face went deadpan like Henny Youngman. That’s when I knew it.
This year, the Elf was going to eat another elf. Book it.
What followed was a warped Christmas journey of our demented troll. Elfie, long known for his adorable hijinx, went off his pole. He committed acts of evil and insanity that barely touched upon a Christmas theme. It was all done to shock my eye-rolling daughter.
Did she love it, you ask?
I don’t know.
I don’t care.
This isn’t for her.
There’s an old wrestling term called “popping the boys”. It’s when a content creator will create content, not with the viewer in mind, but the fellow creators behind the scenes. The goal is to get a chuckle from those in the know.
That’s me. I’m in the know. I’m the boys.
It started slowly with the decapitation of He-Man. Are you impressed that I found a He-Man? Don’t be. Elfie found him. He’s magic.
From there, this little guy embarked on a mission from God. I’m not sure what his goal was, but it got darker over time.
Prior to this year, the darkest Elfie had gotten was a one-night emo phase that saw him write poetry. That, however, was many years ago.
It was back when she believed in the elf’s powers. At the age of five, I had vowed to not get her one as “Santa is always watching.” An elf was just a marketing ploy. I, as a new dad, was making a stand.
Also, as new dad, I discovered that you don’t get to take stands. If other kids in the class get a special treat, you kind of have to do it too. Either that or you hear about it at Thanksgiving in 30 years. All drunk at the table, spilling wine and throwing turkey, talking about, “I didn’t even get a damn Elf!”
I sat with my daughter this year and talked about some old elf stories. I took her behind the veil and explained some of the cuter setups Elfie had done when she was younger. I could see it on her face that she was excited to be getting the secret info.
That’s when I threw a curveball.
It’s funny, right? You knew? You were smartened to the Elf, right?
It all was just pretend back then. I mean, now it’s real. You know the whole deal with how the Elf becomes real when the kid turns 14?
Her eyes bugged out and I knew that expression too. I had taken away her 100% knowledge and interjected that small sense of doubt. She doesn’t believe it, but there’s a little elfin voice in her head that says, “He hasn’t completely denied it.”
And I haven’t.
Wild mayhem and general chaos, this year, my little red fella has been causing massive havoc. And yes, after all that, it finally happened.
He ate an Elf.
The original plan was to have him procure an actual second Elf on a Shelf and cut it into pieces. That felt a bit too much…for this year.
It’s on the potential list for next year, though. After all, you know what they say happens to the Elf when the kid turns 15, right? I don’t. I have 365 days to figure it out though.
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