The Sprite Is a Fright

Not having children of my own, I was shocked to hear friends discuss "The Elf on the Shelf," apparently "a Christmas tradition" of mental torture.

Here's their gleeful revelation. An elf doll is introduced to the kiddies as Santa's private investigator, reporting to the old man if the brats misbehave. The stoolie magically appears in the home in late November and sits quietly, observing.



Youngsters are instructed to never touch the elf and, while the tots are asleep or misdirected, parents relocate the elf to another area of the house to scare the bejabbers out of their spawn upon discovery.

Personally, such a maneuver from my folks would have upset me. I was poisoned more than enough by "he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good or stomach ache."

Now that I've fully matured, I'm beyond the implied threats of Mr. Santa Claus. I give him nary a thought after Christmas morning when I comb the abode for bugs and surveillance cams.
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