By this time I’m shaking, in a good way, if you know what I mean and while I’m attempting to regain my composure (it’s not everyday I experience a great big ho, ho, ho in the parking lot of Target) I start thinking of plausible excuses for what’s going on. I quickly blame my husband. We had being going through a bit of a dry spell in the romance arena. Totally not my fault, by the way. His stupid fantasy football teams were responsible for our craptastic love life. He had three. I told him he couldn’t handle three teams but he ignored me. What with the trades, the drafts, the roster changes it became like a second job. Oh, and here’s the real killer he said it was stressing him out and causing him to have insomnia. So, let me get this straight,” I asked the man/child my husband had become. “Your make-believe, pretend, mythical football teams are causing you so much stress you can’t sleep? Do you think you’re mentally ill? Because that’s what it looks like to me or you’re just the world’s biggest idiot which is also a real possibility.”
Putting all the responsibility for going to third base with a toy squarely on my husband’s shoulders made me feel better, much better. I then proceeded to pick my daughter up from school where she was delighted to get the elf which she quickly named Candy Cane. For the next couple of nights I did all the elf stuff you’re supposed to do. I moved him around from the kitchen to the family room, put him in the tree. You know the usual. Then on night four I woke up and found Candy Cane in bed with me. Strange, because I had left him in the kitchen on top of the toaster. I was in bed all by myself because my husband had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs while watching ESPN – shocker, I know. Well, if I’m lying I’m dying, the elf began wooing me. This, my friends, is when I started my downward spiral of carnal elfing.
You’re judging me I can feel it. Please stop because there’s more to my story. That damn Elf on a Shelf broke my heart. He was one talented, brown-haired, blue-eyed, jerk! In answer to the question I know you’re dying to ask. The elf is junkless. What he does have is that erect red stocking hat. It may not be big but it’s got some mad skills. I took Candy Cane everywhere with me. We were inseparable. I even, like a lot of moms, became a little obsessed with taking “Elfy Shelfies.” Pictures of my handsome little man doing naughty and nice things. But then a mere week later I began to think that Candy Cane was cheating on me. I would come home from work or running errands and I would find him hanging out at Barbie’s Dream House. One time I caught Candy Cane and Mermaid Barbie riding the wave of desire. Which really confused me. Isn’t the whole mermaid fish tail, pretty much, an aquatic chastity belt? And you do not want to know what I found him doing in the Disney Princess Little People Palace with the Polly Pocket dolls. The final straw was when he crossed over the species line to get his giddy up on with the My Little Ponies. Who knew Rainbow Dash was such a tramp. “Enough!” I told Candy Cane. I was kicking him out of the house. He fought me but I sealed him in a Ziploc Freezer bag (the limited edition holiday themed bags because I’m not a monster) and dumped him off at Goodwill. My daughter wasn’t upset at all. Over stupidly expensive hot chocolate at Starbucks she confessed that the Elf wasn’t as much fun as she thought he would be. “You know,” she said. “It seems like the moms are a lot more into those elves than us kids. They talk about them all the time and take a bunch of pictures.”
What could I do except nod my head, cross my legs and say “Yeah, you’re right. It sure does.”
***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new fall Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Flannel Snarky P.J.’s anyone?) Plus, there’s my book - Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.) Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good. Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival. If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link - http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.