& #8220;Mother, Jingles is gone.”
The fuck. What day is it? I could’ve sworn it was my day off but that can’t be right because Ava is right at the edge of my bed, shaking my shoulder, and this small shit understands how badly I want my slumber on my days away. It’s still dark outside. This better be great.
& #8220;What, Ava?” I groan, rolling away from her grabby little hands. !
& #8220;Jingles. Is. GONE,” she duplicates in that insufferable tone just 6-year olds can pull off.
Who the fuck is Jingles?
“Who’s Jingles?” I request my pillow, editing for language.
& #8220;Our elf!” Ava stomps her foot. while I don’t turn back to her, she scurries around to the different side of the bed so she can throw her face before mine. & #8220;He told me, he said he’d have a specific gift for me today but now I can’t locate him EVERYWHERE!”
Okay. Let’s get one thing right here. I don’t do that Elf On The Ledge bullshit. It’s a waste of time, it essentially bribes your dumb children into acting for a month, and it’s simply a glorified way for Facebook parents to shoot silly pictures and share for god knows what reason. Have you got some notion how many photos I’ve seen on my timeline where a full grown adult, someone I smoked weed with in school, has lost Hershey’s Kisses into a toilet and presented that idiotic elf over the bowl? Too many fucking times. !
So you comprehend my confusion.
& #8220;He came through my window last night.” She sticks her lower lip out in a pout that sort of makes me want to smack it off of her. !
I wouldn’t do that, obviously. I don’t hit my child. But in case you have children and you also act like you’ve never thought about it, you’re a filthy liar.
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