Snitches Get Stitches

Am I the only one who thinks the whole Elf on the Shelf thing is just creepy?

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For the benefit of those who are childless or who have been living under a rock for the past several years, here's the skinny on Elf on the Shelf.

Some sadistic soul thought it would be a great idea to invent a stuffed elf, place him around the house and tell their kids that they'd better behave because the elf was watching them. Each night leading up to December 25th, parents are supposed to wait until Junior heads off to dreamland, then move the elf to a different location. The point of this exercise is to keep junior on his toes. If the kid screws up, the Elf rats him out and Junior's going to have a lousy Christmas.

I envision an awful lot of future therapy sessions for people traumatized by this red-suited buttinski who mysteriously turned up in random places around the house, ready to snitch on them for any transgression they may have committed. 

Trying to swipe an extra cookie? Sneak a peek at the presents Mom stashed in the closet? Watch a little more TV than you're allowed? Watch out, cause there's a blabbermouth in the house.

Honestly, growing up, we never needed a stupid Elf because Mom was on the job. She could smell cookies on our breath, hear the rustle of wrapping paper at 50 paces and knew when it was time to throw us out in the cold to get some fresh air away from the television screen. 

Anyone who has watched Bewitched knows that Gladys Kravitz was not a sympathetic character. Nobody likes to be spied on. As far as I'm concerned, Elf on the Shelf is just a big old snitch. 

And, like that old chestnut goes, "Snitches Get Stitches."

I thought I was being original, but to my chagrin I discovered there is actually a shirt that features this saying with a black-and-blue Elf.

Suffice it to say, there'll be no elf on any shelf in the Casa de Ginley. It's not that I've been naughty, mind you. 

I just don't want any elf up in my business.