Werdyab Blog: The Elf on the Shelf

Unless you've lived under a rock for the past few holiday seasons, you are familiar with The Elf on the Shelf: A New Christmas Tradition.

Originally, I wrote a couple of paragraphs here about that silly elf and how it works, but everybody already knows about it. That's sort of the point of this post.

...........

A friend mentioned that one of the Elf authors attended the same college that I did. TALK ABOUT SMALL WORLD.

A quick Google search revealed that she is definitely not a member of the "Amanda Is Awesome Street Team". In short, she's my 18-year-old archnemesis.

She's the kryptonite to my Superman. She's the Joker to my Batman. She's the rehab to my Charlie Sheen.

I never even considered the possiblity that I might actually know the woman behind the Elf. Have you ever researched the inventor of Sham Wow? What about Silly Putty? Of course not. You know why? BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW THEM.

Let me set the stage for you. It was the summer of 1993, and I walked into a large student center for my first college orientation meeting, and I saw a handsome upperclassman. Trying to break the nervous tension, I turned to my roommate and said, "Five bucks says that I'm dating him by the end of the first quarter." It was a joke. I'd probably never even meet the guy.

But I did meet him and we talked. He even asked me out on a date. And then I found out that he already had a girlfriend. (He conveniently left that part out of his swooning.)

His girlfriend was a well-liked, well-known student leader on campus. She was cute and sweet and smart. God, I hated her.

He broke up with her to date me. Then he broke up with me to date her. For a while, there was more back-and-forth than at Wimbledon.

So it's still pretty gray as to whether I won that five dollar bet or not.

Anyway, as luck would have it, she was a big sister in the sorority that I was pledging and initiation week was just around the corner. Awesome. This should be fun.

Under penalty of death by sorority code, I cannot disclose exactly how crappy she made my life during that week. But let's just say that she wasn't leaving sweet notes in my dorm room or baking me cookies.

She and I never got passed our Boom I Got Your Boyfriend era. We were never friends. When we both in the same room, the temperature increased 20-degrees and people started gasping for air. So as a favor, I avoided her the same way that Kim Kardashian avoided marriage counseling.

At the end of that year, she transferred to another college and I forgot all about her. Until the Elf. That fun, creative, undeniably awesome, stupid, little elf.

Now she's touring the globe, promoting her new Christmas tradition, and counting her millions. Pfft. Elf me.

And unfortunately, this childish feud from almost two decades ago prevents me from spending one red cent on that freakin' elf.

And now I feel left out!

I don't get to surf the web for elf ideas that I can steal and claim as my own. I don't get to yell at my husband for his lame attempt at creativity when it's his night to move the elf. My children can act afool from Thanksgiving until Christmas and SANTA WILL NEVER KNOW.

Drew asked, "Mama, why don't we have an elf?"

And I said, "Because an elf won't visit a home where the Mama has a bitter heart."

So since the Elf wasn't an original idea anyway (ahem), I thought that I could borrow her elf and make it my own.

Now introducing the Boom I Got Your Boyfriend Elf: a new NEW Christmas tradition.

Just leave this elf on the doorstep of the girl whose boyfriend you've just stolen. If you have the elf, then you don't have the guy. It's that simple.

At night, your elf will come to life and cry, look at photos of the ex, stalk his Facebook page, listen to Michael Buble songs, and eat ice cream by the gallon.

Back in the day, this would have cleared up some unanswered questions for me. I'm doing these girls a solid.