Who’s Dissing Elf On The Shelf?

Last Friday, around dinner time, I found myself in Target. Yes, this is the glamorous island life I lead, spending my Friday nights driving off-island to the nearest big box stores in search of alluring sundry like vacuums.

But there I was, given the rare opportunity to shop without one single small person. Netflix LCB had graciously offered to watch the kids while I consummated my second vacuum purchase of the week (don’t ask). After snagging the vacuum, I continued my shopping, hoping to pick up a few other items as well. Moseying through several aisles, I found myself in the books and movies section of the store, browsing titles of both for possible gift ideas.

It was then that I heard her.

Standing on the other side of the section, near an Elf on the Shelf display of boxes like this one, that include a storybook and an elf, a seemingly pleasant-looking lady and a small boy that looked about four-years-old were talking.

“Oh, look, there’s Elf on the Shelf,” she said, as her son, presumably, stood in front of the display, looking at it.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gave him an explanation about an elf who watches over children during the day and flies back to Santa at night to report on their behavior.

“I don’t know, it sounds a little strange to me. I’m not sure if I’d want one. It might be weird to have him watching you all the time.” Her son appeared to be buying her explanation, and they started to step back from the display.

My first thought was, “I’m glad my kids didn’t just overhear that,” as we’ve had great fun as a family finding our elf’s new hiding spot every morning. This was closely followed by, honestly, a bit of a chuckle on my part, as I imagined the potentially justifiable story behind her words. It seemed that she had just cleverly avoided shelling out money for one more thing that very possibly her son did not need or that she didn’t have money for at the moment due to all the other toys she had possibly purchased for him recently. “Spin it, sister. I’ve so been there before, on a Christmas buying binge that needs to be terminated,” I thought.

And, then, she opened her mouth and kept going, becoming remarkably less pleasant with each second. In the space of a few sentences, she lost every ounce of my support.

She had already made the sale, but it began to be apparent that perhaps there was more to it than that for her, because she continued on, her voice growing louder and louder as she spoke. I looked around, hoping other children were not hearing this, because I can well imagine the impact that it may have had on them.

She continued, “Seriously, that’s just so creepy! Who would want an elf staring at you all day, watching every move you make. I don’t want it. I don’t want that thing in my house! It’s just so creepy!”

I didn’t time it, but I would guess that the next three full minutes were spent, in an explosion of redundancy, repeating the above-expressed sentiment, over and over. The only thing that changed was the volume of her voice, which continued to increase as she walked away from me, moving aisle after aisle away while I could still hear, with complete clarity, every word she said.

My first grader does not believe that Santa is “real,” something he’s been rather verbal about with his parents. And, he takes impulsivity to a place where no one has gone before, so while I wish I could, I can’t promise you that he has never told another child about his disbelief. But I can promise you this: If he has expressed this thought to others outside our family, it is not because his parents have not reminded him at least fifty times, and on regular intervals, not to rain on anyone else’s parade.

It lacks civility.

And, it’s completely unnecessary.

Last I saw her, the lady was walking down a main aisle of Target, speaking in almost a fervor, both arms gesticulating dramatically at this point, expounding on the creepy nature of what amounts to a small red doll with a smile painted on its face. I cringed as I saw multiple customers with children walking in and out of the smaller aisles that extended out from the one she was walking through.

This morning, I awoke to the sounds of my first grader laughing in the kitchen. The small people had just gone down the stairs for breakfast, and for once, he beat his little sister to the punch, discovering Elf’s location for the day hidden behind a small cactus on the window ledge above the sink.

“What if he gets poked by the cactus?” he asked, giggling.

Deep down, I think the small people don’t really think our elf actually flies to the North Pole every night, suddenly struck by the gift of animation. But, I’m glad for this willful suspension of disbelief for our family, that we have the gift of being able to see something other than creepiness in the pop of red peaking out behind our cactus.