|Stop looking at me, elf. Via|
Or, I get the lovely morning wake-up call of "Mo-ooooommm, Jack didn't move AGAIN." To which I reply, "Oh, honey, Jack's legs are just really tired after running back and forth to the North Pole to report on your behavior. Plus he has something BIG planned for tomorrow" (all the while thinking, Jack the Elf shouldn't have had that extra glass of wine last night. Oooooppps). On that note, I am thoroughly on to the fact that my oldest kid has been thoroughly on to this game from about day 5. I think she just wants Jack to come back out of his closet so she can torture me. She's been asking "When's Jack going to get here?" since Thanksgiving night, while I, on the other hand, have been continuously griping about the stupid elves like an old-timer complaining about Black Friday turning into Black Wednesday: "Goddamn elf on the shelf. Who came up with this crap? A man no doubt, because I don't see any fathers knocking each other over to join the elf movement. I'm paying $35 for my own headache, not to mention all of the elfy paraphernalia I have to buy."
Finally, the Elf on the Shelf might be the creepiest toy invented in the last fifty years. Just look in his eyes. You can see it. Underneath that smirky smile is a Chucky just waiting for his chance. I know one of these mornings I am going to wake up to that elf sitting on my chest staring at my face, smiling the most sinister smile since Bela Lugosi's Dracula.
So, to all you moms who love the elves, more power to you. I, on the other hand, am sincerely hoping that the little creeps go the way of the Mon-Chi-Chi and Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots ... and fast. A/J