SID FOUND OUT ABOUT THE ELVES

This weekend, shortly after a Friday call with my therapist where she told me that eventually I’d need to tell my almost eleven-year-old that our Scout Elves were nothing more than polyester fibrefill stuffed dolls mass-produced in China, Sid caught me red-handed.

On the phone with Jason, I lamented how hard his out-of-town stay last night had been. The boys slept in my bed, each of them wrapped around me like deadly serpents. There was no way to escape the snake pit without one of them waking. But somehow I managed. I was able to plant the elves outside the apartment without either of my captors noticing. I felt proud and triumphant until Sid waltzed into my room seconds after I hung up with Jason to announce that he’d been eavesdropping.

“My entire childhood is a lie?” He blinked.

“What?” I played dumb.

"The elves aren't real," he smirked, before wildly laughing and leaving the room.

A few moments later, he reappeared, clutching all three elves (yes, we really do have three). Up until this point, Sid had believed that touching the elves would lead to the dissolution of their magic. Now, he didn’t give a fuck.