OK, which one of you scoundrels stole my Christmas elf? I used to think I had at least a dozen of them, and they would appear at will during the busiest time of the year. And now, I cannot even find one.
I have boxes marked “Christmas” all over my living room and ribbon cuttings from ”decorations in progress” all over my dining room floor. I seem to be very proficient this year in moving things from one side of the room to the other without finishing anything. I need my elf!
And to make matters worse I have strategically placed my blinders so that I am completely oblivious to any of the mess. I have honed tunnel vision to a whole new level. It is actually quite impressive if I do say so myself.
I assure you I used to be the original Christmas elf - right down to the pointy ears, turned-up nose, and twinkling eyes. Donning candy cane red and Grinch green duds, with my fur-trimmed Santa hat, of course, I was an efficient little Sprite hustling about like a whirling dervish on sugar plum steroids.
Even the most annoying of Christmas carols brought a spring to my step and musical delight to my pointy little ears. They have now become noise. Noise. NOISE! Which bloody little ghost of Christmas past can I blame for this obvious hiccup in my holiday spirit?
But it is still early in December and perhaps I am prematurely pushing the envelope for elevated seasonal essence. Is this where I strike a yoga meditation pose and chant “Om” for inspiration? I am fairly sure, at least, I have not evolved into a Scrooge. But I do think my effing elfishness may be temporarily disenchanted.
I suppose it is time to bring out the gingerbread candles, the peppermint hot cocoa, and my questionably playful “I don’t want your BALLS on me!” ugly Christmas Tree sweater. I am grateful every day I still have friends with whom I can wear this holiday abomination around without fear of offending them. Holiday thanks to my exceedingly indulgent comrades who just look at me, smile, and shake their heads.
So, I am officially on the hunt for Christmas spirit. I am certain it will appear at the most inopportune time causing strangers to gawk at me with “What in the world is wrong with her?“ scrutiny.
Who knows, with any luck, one of those irritating little stares may just be the catalyst I need to beam back an even more bedeviling holiday spotlight on those heartless Scrooges of the world. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
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Jacque Jarrett Stratman