My favorite Grimm's fairy tale is The Elves and the Shoemaker. The elves come out at night to tidy up the poor shoemaker's shop while he sleeps. They make more shoes than possible from his last scrap of leather and have some left over. I thought it sounded fun when I was a kid. I desperately wanted my own elves when I was a single mother. Now I think I have one.
I understand people who say they black out after a couple of drinks and then wake up in different houses, cities, or even countries. After a couple of (alcohol-free) hours in front of the flickering TV screen, I'm properly zombie-ized and ready to fall into bed. But sometimes I notice the time on my bedside clock is oddly later than the time I remember leaving the living room. Those are the nights the elf is busiest.
My elf shops on the internet. I learn what she's ordered when I arise in the morning to find neat piles of papers on my desk and pictures of merchandise on my printer. A few nights ago, she ordered me some new swim goggles. She must have known my old ones are giving me a rash. A big bag of clothes arrived yesterday, each item in two different sizes. Spooky. I'm between sizes right now--how did she know?
I don't why, but she bought a 2-burner gas BBQ last night--$99 and free shipping (Oh, she's good!) I do know I muttered and fussed about stinking up the house when I cooked fish earlier in the evening. I may have sworn never to cook fish again until I got a BBQ. I may have sworn, period!
I'm not unhappy about this weird late-night service. I'd like to get her in touch with the shoemaker's elves, however. They made something out of nothing and had some left over. That technique seems eminently more practical than just whipping out my credit card, doesn't it?
I understand people who say they black out after a couple of drinks and then wake up in different houses, cities, or even countries. After a couple of (alcohol-free) hours in front of the flickering TV screen, I'm properly zombie-ized and ready to fall into bed. But sometimes I notice the time on my bedside clock is oddly later than the time I remember leaving the living room. Those are the nights the elf is busiest.
My elf shops on the internet. I learn what she's ordered when I arise in the morning to find neat piles of papers on my desk and pictures of merchandise on my printer. A few nights ago, she ordered me some new swim goggles. She must have known my old ones are giving me a rash. A big bag of clothes arrived yesterday, each item in two different sizes. Spooky. I'm between sizes right now--how did she know?
I don't why, but she bought a 2-burner gas BBQ last night--$99 and free shipping (Oh, she's good!) I do know I muttered and fussed about stinking up the house when I cooked fish earlier in the evening. I may have sworn never to cook fish again until I got a BBQ. I may have sworn, period!
I'm not unhappy about this weird late-night service. I'd like to get her in touch with the shoemaker's elves, however. They made something out of nothing and had some left over. That technique seems eminently more practical than just whipping out my credit card, doesn't it?
Posts
3 comments:
Wonderful! I'd like elves in the garden, but it seems the only ones active out there are moles and digging greyhound.
Darn elves! You need to find ones that don't cost you so much money! :) How about minimalist elves? ;)
See? We all want elves--just different kinds!
Don't minimalists shop? I think they buy big, straight-lined pieces of art with lots of space in them. Might go well with my ivory furniture, but definitely not with my English teacup collection!
Post a Comment