Unlike the typical advent calendar, ours is a three dimensional all-wood Swiss chalet with numbered doors, behind which Santa’s elves hide little treats each night after the boys go to bed.
I’m not bragging, you understand. I’m simply illustrating my work load.
Today is what? The 20th day of this madness?
And every night those magical elves have remembered to swing by the O’Brien elf house with treats for our boys.
Except for last night.
Last night, the elves were reveling in the joys of the season. Drinking wine and eating elf chili, and singing Christmas carols, and drinking wine … and they, like, totally spaced their elf house duties.
At 6AM, mama elf heard the rustling of covers down the hall. The boys were awake.
“Shim!” said mama elf. (That’s elf speak for … you get the picture). And with supersonic elf force, mama elf sprang from her bed! Grabbed two gumballs—okay, I’m lying, she grabbed four gumballs, because she felt guilty—from the super secret elf stash! And sprinted to the living room…
... where her youngest child, a boy of three, was already standing before the elf house, squinting at each door.
“Which one’s duh twentyiff?” asked the boy.
“Hmm,” said the mama elf, clutching the gumballs behind her back. “I’m not sure. WHY DON’T YOU GO ASK DADDY WHAT THE NUMBER 20 LOOKS LIKE?”
“Okay,” said the delightfully compliant little boy (her favorite; she would note this on her list for Santa). As he pattered off to ask his dad what the number 20 looks like, the mama elf attempted to stuff the four gumballs behind door #20.
“MOM!”
Mama elf froze. It was her five year old. Standing behind her. Menacing and self-righteous. A small Anderson Cooper. Keeping her honest.
“We don’t want YOU to look for the elf candy!” he said. “WE like to look for it.”
“Of course you do!” said mama elf. “What was I thinking? I just got so excited there for a second and DADDY? ARE YOU THERE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT A TWENTY LOOKS LIKE? YOUR HELP IS NEEDED IN LIVING ROOM NOW PLEASE.”
The long-suffering papa elf padded into the living room, bleary eyed. “What’s wrong?”
Mama elf was feeling desperate. All eyes were on the elf house. All elf treats were in her hands. She mouthed the super secret emergency elf password to her husband:
“I FORGOT TO DO THE F*KING ELF HOUSE.”
Papa elf snapped to action.
“Boys! Did you change your underwear? You can’t do the elf house if you’re not wearing clean underwear! Get in your room and let’s start this whole thing over. We need to do this thing right!”
Reluctant and confused (clean underwear is an elf requirement?), the boys followed papa elf into their bedroom while mama elf successfully stuffed the gumballs into place.
From her bedroom, the mama elf heard the delighted rasp of her oldest son, “The elves left FOUR gumballs? We must have been really good yesterday!”
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Comments
I never tire of your column. You are hysterical and super talented. Merry Christmas!
And I meant SWISS chalet. Not Swish Chalet. Don't want to imagine what elves would leave in a Swish Chalet. Pasties?