Nearly a decade ago, a buddy of mine invited me to out for Christmastime lunch. We stopped at his relative’s house for a for visit since we were in the area. It was there that I learned of the “Elf on a Shelf” and that little girls are not all sugar and spice.
The family was nice and I admired their marvelous Christmas decorations. Immediately, I was drawn to the Elf on their shelf. As I reached for it, the little girl became incensed and the family corrected my ignorant faux pas with an explanation of the “Elf on a Shelf” legend. DON’T TOUCH THE ELF …
We had a pleasant chat for about 30 minutes and as we were about to leave, for no reason at all, the Elf toppled off of the shelf. The little girl had a complete meltdown. Actually, the word meltdown pales compared to her reaction. She had, what we in the South call, a conniption and I was the target of her wrath. The little girl evolved into a creature that would have made Linda Blair envious, complete with vulgar language. Everyone though that it was best if I left and while trying to make my escape, the little angel (or demon in this case) tried several times to punch me in the groin.
The goodbyes were with littered with apologies from the family, my friend and myself. Though, I maintain to this day that I didn’t touch that damn Elf. The years have rolled by, and I wonder about that family from time to time. I imagine that the little girl is in college by now or more likely in prison.