Why you need to bin the Elf for good. Now.

Twas a night in early-December and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Only a mother who, wiping the sweat from her brow, weeps
'What the hell do I do with this fecker now?'

You’ve endured only four days. Four long, dark days. You’ve ran him a pink and white marshmallow bath, permanently-markered minions on your organic bananas and (after one too many sherries on the 3rd) found him enthusiastically straddling Bonking Barbie in the kissing booth. However, it’s the 4th December, you’re quickly running out of witty and Instagrammable ideas and you’ve still got twenty, yes TWENTY, nights to go.

Firstly, let me put this out there now. I love Christmas. I really do. Saying a gleeful au revoir to the Insta-cringe, pumpkin-laced irritations of Autumn (unless it’s in coffee form and warmly enveloped in a Starbucks-branded cup), I lovingly embrace a right good Christmas tradition. The erecting of our Harry Potter-inspired tree, the eye-wateringly expensive matching Christmas pyjamas (which, FYI seem to have been sold out EVERYWHERE since the middle of November. Actually WHY??), the Christmas Eve rituals of baked goodies courtesy of Bella’s Bakes, the carrots, milk, half-chewed mince pie (f**ks sake, Tom) and The Christmas Chronicles in all its sugary, repetitive glory. Proper traditions.

But I draw the line at the bastard elf.

I can put my hand on my heart and say that the diminutive little deadbeat has never darkened my festive door. Allowing a leering, Lilliputian lawbreaker to invade my home, prowl round at night, terrify my kids and generally just leave a shit tip behind him for the vast majority of December? Not gonna happen in this house. Sorry boys.

I don’t see magic. I don’t see enchantment. I don’t see wizardry. All I see is another lie. Another great whopping fib along with good old Father Christmas himself, the Tooth Fairy and the sodding Easter Bunny.  As if the side eye and irritating smirk isn’t enough to deal with, surely the pressure of having to do something original and ‘creative’ with it when you’re coming off the back of a 5am start, a full day’s work hassle and all the rest of the aggravation that is piled on parents at this time of year is enough to put off any sane parent. Only a complete sadist would get involved in this charade.

The Tw*t in the Hat. 

And I see you. Yes you, tired parent. Exhausted and haggard from yet another sleepless night, tossing and turning wondering where you’re going to dangle the grinning goon from next. Well, here I am. Think of me as your little Christmas Fairy Godmother. Without the tutu and sickly Disney smile, obvs. I’m offering you a way out. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to shelve the Elf for good. Thank me later.

Five top ways to shelve the Elf. Like, forever.

1. He got a promotion. He was sooooo good at being a sneaky little grass, he was promoted to Chief Elf in charge of all Surveillance Operations at the North Pole Head Office. Perfect promotion material, apparently.

2. Set to appear on the Elf version of ‘Love Island’. After things didn’t quite work out with Bonking Barbie, he has applied to the popular TV series as he is now ready to find worthwhile Elf Love and put all his elfie eggs into one basket.

3. Kidnapped by Bad Santa. Poor old Elfie has been kidnapped by Bad Santa’s elves for the secrets of Santas’s magic flying sleigh and had his wings plucked off because Santa wouldn’t pay the ransom in time. Tight bastard. No wingies, no flyies. Consequently redeployed to office duties. Shame.

4. The dog ate him. Made a tasty change from homework.

5. He just fecking died, ok?