Julie Jay: To Elf or Not to Elf, that is the question

This prankster is more irritating than your friend who does CrossFit or people who correct your pronunciation of words like ‘croissant’ and ‘yoghurt'. On the irksome scale, elves make these joy thieves appear positively endearing.

For those of you blissfully unfamiliar with Elf On The Shelf, let me fill you in...

An elf travels from the North Pole to your home, where they observe your kids all day during December. The elf then flies back to Santa every night to give reports on whether your child can be added to the ‘nice list’.

He is a master of espionage — a professional narc whose fuel is telling tales and squealing to the Big Man himself. Upon returning to your home in the morning, the elf finds a new spot to observe your kids. While his sole job is to stamp out scampish antics among children, his contract says nothing about refraining from such divilment himself.

Over the years, my group of mammies have happened upon their elf baking, toilet-papering the tree, dancing on record players, rifling through the cornflakes box, and even on occasion enjoying a spot of fishing in their ridiculously expensive MTV Cribs-style fish tank. 

One particularly sad tale that springs to mind is that of the friend who decided to forego self-care and pour all her energy into lighting up her house like Times Square for the season that was in it.

When I asked how she engineered fairy lights hanging upside-down outside an upstairs bedroom, she casually informed me: “Oh, it was no bother; I just got Steve to go out the skylight in the attic after the kids went to bed and dangle them down.” 

 What made this particularly alarming was the adverse weather conditions at the time. Steve had climbed onto the roof during a storm, which his wife and my long-term pal dismissed as ‘just a small storm’ - the equivalent of saying ‘just a little bit dead'. 

The following morning, she discovered her elf had not only dismantled the precariously placed fairy lights but also, much to her horror, had knotted the fairy lights together. 

She spent the bones of 24 hours straight trying to detangle the wires before deciding ‘to hell with it’ and purchasing another 400 bulbs for the exterior.

Determined not to be beaten by this pesky North Pole prankster, she doubled down and bought an inflatable snowman for the garden, which required its own generator. 

Her electricity bill was so high she says she will never forget where she was when she opened it — much in the same way your granny says she will never forget where she was the day JFK got shot.

So much goes into preparing the house for Christmas that for it to be undone by these tiresome troublemakers dressed in red is nothing short of infuriating. 

Last week, a good friend of mine went for her midnight trip to the loo only to discover a toilet bowl full of shredded wheat. The irony is that the only reason she needed to go to the toilet in the first place was because of a late-night bowl of shredded wheat (it really keeps you regular).

'We couldn’t find another bowl!' the note announced, with the elves in question grinning up at her, delighted with themselves. 

My friend spent the next morning removing cereal from her toilet and bemoaning the lengths to which parents must go to pacify the elves who are quite clearly calling the shots here.

Without blowing my Christmas trumpet, I know a lot of elves read this column. I feel it is my duty to implore you guys to think of the parents as you embark on your reign of terror in the coming days. 

And if you need to take a bath full of marshmallows, at least have the courtesy of cleaning the bathroom up after yourself.

Last year, I found a small guy drying himself with my good towel after the fact, and let’s just say I saw more of that elf than anyone ever needs to see. 

I am still finding marshmallows behind my cistern 12 months later — but on the plus side, at least it’s not shredded wheat.