I crave an elf on the shelf. But I do so for all the wrong reasons.
1 – I’d probably set the bag on the front stair and forget about it for three weeks, or until my kid snooped in the bag, saw the box, pieced everything together with his surprisingly logical little brain and decided that there’s nothing very magical about Christmas after all. CHRISTMAS RUINED. Way to go, mom.
2 – I would become Atë, goddess of misfortune. Atë is also considered to be the Greek goddess of mischief but in her case, mischief appears to mean the ancient equivalent of “Oops, you fell down the stairs and died. So sorry, #notsorry.” In other words, the elf would likely meet a tragic demise, probably just by being under my roof. But if I get sick of him, which is always a possibility, I might be inclined to help things along.
3 – I would become as Loki, the real god of mischief. And this is probably the biggest reason I shouldn’t have one, because I’d be the sort of person who abused the mischief making potential to the fullest. Unfortunately this might also result in the elf’s eventual demise, probably by the hands of someone who lives in the same household with me (see #2).
4 – Scooter, my hunter cat, loves grabbing things of a convenient bite-size and dragging them around the house. He would likely decide he also loves EOTS and traumatize my kid (and possibly also me) by making the elf A LITTLE TOO LIVELY. Did I ever tell you the story about how this cat of mine almost precipitated divorce by depositing all socks he could get his teeth on on the landing at the top of the stairs? We spent six months blaming each other for leaving socks where one could slip on them and kill themselves falling down the stairs until we caught Scooter in the act.
5 – If EOTS doesn’t die a horrible death, my kid would probably start to fear Christmas. At the very least, he’d probably decide that EOTS is a creepy stalker, and he doesn’t want him to come hang around anymore.