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The Next Place I'm Putting The Elf On The Shelf Is Where The Sun Don't Shine

Christmas is approaching and I gotta say, I'm so excited. I just love all the stuff that comes with it: holiday cocktails, boozy get togethers, tipsy decorations, wine advent calendars, and of course, time with loved ones.

The gremlins get super stoked for Christmas too, obviously. They sit down and write letters to Santa, plan out their Christmas morning gift-opening strategy, and just generally eat a lot of sugar and go nuts — which I love.

But the one thing they always count on is seeing the Elf on the Shelf in a different spot and doing a different thing every. single. day. Which I hate.

That creepy elf with his blank stare and psychopathic smile is the worst part about the holidays and I'm ready to send him packing.

I wouldn't normally invite a creep into my house to spy on my kids, so why is this elf any different?

I've taught my children all the important safety lessons, like look both ways before crossing the street, don't take candy from strangers, and never eat yellow snow.

But for some reason, I'm supposed to think it's cute that some maniacal-looking doll is making its way through my house, spying on my children and their every action, and reporting it back to the Christmas authorities? And I'm expected to get them to think this is normal?

I don't think so.

I know I'm not alone in thinking there is something sinister behind this elf and his motives.

Now, hear me out, but isn't it possible that by inviting Elf on the Shelf into our homes we're actually setting our kids up to accept surveillance as a fact of life? (No, I'm not talking about my Google Home, which gave me a smashing recipe for Fireball sangria, by the way.)

Laura Pinto, a digital technology professor at the University of Ontario in Canada argues: "If you grow up thinking it’s cool for the elves to watch me and report back to Santa, well then it’s cool for the NSA to watch me and report back to the government."


The thing is, even if the Elf on the Shelf isn't actually collecting my kids' data and sending it to the jolly man upstairs, it's the most annoying daily task to add to my already taxing schedule of holiday cookie baking and martini shaking.

I mean, how many more hilarious and spontaneous scenarios can I possibly cook up for this little kook? I've already socially distanced him by shoving him in a jar, hidden him in rolls of toilet paper, and put him in quarantine. (Do you see a trend here?)

Unless I build him a tiny bar and set him to work for the next month mixing up a new cocktail every day, I'm all out of ideas.

Try as we might, though, sometimes even the best laid plans result in an elf who requires emergency care.

Maybe there's a small subconscious part of us all that believes the elf is truly magical and therefore immune to potentially fatal mishaps. Or maybe (by which I mean, more likely) some of us have had too many gingerbread martinis before we move the little jackass around.

Either way, he's as fallible and flammable as any toy elf. Keep that in mind.

He's also equally attractive to children as he is family pets.

I truly never thought about introducing him to the dog... Forgive me, beloved pooch, as I make you my Christmas scapegoat. (It's OK, I'll gain back his trust with bacon.)

I know this wasn't meant to happen, but this scenario actually kills two birds with one elf, if you ask me.

This is brilliant if your goal is to rid your home of gingerbread house and Elf on the Shelf responsibilities simultaneously.

I'm starting to worry that despite my best efforts, that elf is going to find himself in a similarly compromising situation.

I'm not saying I'm going to accidentally melt him in the oven, like my hero did last Christmas (hi, Brittany!), but I'm not saying I'm not not going to do that, either.

Don't get me wrong, I commend the moms who really have fun with this and do their best to find the irony in it.

Ultimately, I'm ready to send the Elf on the Shelf packing and on his way back to the North Pole. I don't need some guy hanging around my house, judging my parenting skills, and demanding to be catered to in a creative fashion every day.

Unless that guy is Jason Momoa. In which case, I'll be over here dreaming up new scenarios for him and how he'll look in my house.

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