I love the Elf on the Shelf.
Not because he’s “cute.” Seeing as I’ve had a crippling fear of creepy-looking dolls coming alive at night and grabbing my feet when I step out of bed since I saw Chucky way back when, I don’t tend to think things like this are “cute.”
I love the Elf on the Shelf (ours is named Purvis) because he’s EFFECTIVE.
No form of arm-twisting on earth works as well with a kid as an elf-threat.
“You better get in here and do your homework or Purvis is gonna tell Santa you were naughty!”
“Purvis is watching. Don’t you think you should share that cookie with mommy?”
“Hey — you didn’t put salt on mommy’s margarita. Do I have to tell Purvis on you?”
In fact, it’s so effective around my house that I quite literally mist up a little bit when packing Purvis away every year.
However, just this weekend, I discovered a dirty little secret about Purvis that means I can never look at him quite the same way again. In fact, it’s a secret that makes the name we chose turn out to be a bit of a elf-fulfilling prophecy.
I stepped into my laundry room, flipped on the light and caught him, well, let’s just say that he’s been a busy and naughty little pervert during the off-season.
Take a look here.
Just so you can rest easy, Purvis did immediately offer his hand in apology.
I accepted his apology.
But did not touch his hand.
Happy elf shaming season.