The Day the Elves Stole My Wife
Stephen E. J. Tomporowski
“You’re just getting to be a lazy bum!” expressed my wife.
I never did like weeding the garden, but it was a job that needed to be done and I did it. Today wasn’t just a rebellion, you see, there were elves in the garden. My wife didn’t believe me.
“When haven’t I always done the weeding?” I protested. “But I’d rather not do it while there are elves down there.”
“There are no mythical creatures in our garden!” she said.
“Here, take the binoculars,” I offered. “You can see them moving between the corn stalks, their clothes are a slightly different color green.”
My wife gave me a withering glare. She maintained that glare as she picked up the garden tools and the bucket. “I’ll do it.”
“I wouldn’t…” I began and was cut off by the slamming of the back door.
She stomped down the ramp and headed for the garden. I sat at the window to watch, binoculars in hand.
It happened so quick that I almost missed it. Well, I really did miss it. One moment she knelt down and the next there was a short screech and then she was gone.
That left me to decide on which fast-food restaurant for dinner. I wasn’t going to call the police and tell them that elves stole my wife.
Then I realized what was going to happen next.
It didn’t take more than 15 minutes before there were four sharp raps on the back door. Elves always knock four times. It’s probably an ethnic trait.
I opened the door to a diminutive person in green clothes holding a clipboard. Pointy hat, pointy shoes and pointy ears, yep, this was an elf. He was just over 2 foot tall, I had always thought they were bigger.
“We have your wife,” he began with a slightly nasally squeak of a voice. “We will ransom her...”
He consulted his clipboard.
“…for 12 dozen Dunkin Donuts, chocolate and frosted, none of that glazed crap,” he continued. “And…”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“…144 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, 72 Smores and 72 Thin Mints. That should be fair.”
“Too much.” I said and slammed the door in his face.
I actually got three steps away before he rapped on the door again (four times).
“Okay, you drive a hard bargain. We’ll cut down the ransom to only the donuts and 100 boxes of cookies.”
“Too much,” I said and slammed the door in his face, again.
Immediately he knocked again.
“What about…” he began.
“Hold on just a minute. You’re not getting it,” I said. “My wife serves only two functions: to warm the bed at night and cook meals. We have an electric blanket on the bed and there are plenty of fast food restaurants around. Besides, it’ll be fun to learn how to cook.”
I noticed my wife had been snacking, so I grabbed the box.
“How about this,” I started. “I’ll give you a half-a-box of Ritz crackers.”
The look on his face said everything. He shoved the clipboard under his arm and stomped off down the ramp.
I went to Taco Bell. Thinking it over, I not only got myself my usual two soft tacos but also got my wife’s favorite taco salad with double meat.
I had just finished my soft tacos when I heard stomping on the ramp. The door burst open and my wife stomped in, looking like she had been dragged backwards through a rabbit hole.
She glared at me.
“I. Hate. Elves.” She said and stomped down the hall toward the bedroom and the shower.
“I got you Taco Bell.” I called.
“Thank you,” she called back.
The next day I weeded the garden. The elves were gone.