Mary + Her Mental Health

So what do you do on a frigid Saturday evening, when your roommate goes out of town, and you’ve got no man to snuggle on the couch with? Why, you dress up like an elf and hit the neighboring ward Christmas party, that’s what!

My recently married friend, GW, out of absolute desperation, emails me last week and asks me to PUH-LEEZ be an elf at her ward’s Christmas party. She hadn’t found anyone else who would do it. Shocker. She explained that I’d only be needed for an hour, I’d greet the children, and ask them what they’d like for Christmas, and then hand them a little goodie bag. Only an hour, huh? Okay. I agreed to do it with the understanding of a few things: (a) I was only doing it for her; (b) I sympathized with her position of trying to find someone last minute and fulfill her calling; and (c) there would be no prancing, no dancing, and definitely no gallivanting in my underpantsing. GW agreed. She also mentioned that a costume would be provided.

Saturday arrives. I find GW and receive my instructions. I am to change into the costume immediately, report back to the cultural hall, and await my introduction over a microphone. After which, I shall take my chair in the corner next to the goodie bags and work my elfish selfish. GW then hands me a large bag and says, “We’ve got a great* costume for you!”

*GREAT: …9: markedly superior in character or quality; …[Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary]

I couldn’t find a photo of the exact costume I was given, but here is something very like:



Indeed…markedly superior. I will also have you know, that NEVER did I stand in first position and bend my knees with my hand in the air, as modeled by Becky Jingle Bells here.

In the ladies room, I pulled out each piece of the costume (the hat, tights, tunic, belt, etc.) and laugh-whined for a full ten minutes. I was having trouble with the idea that I was going to change out of perfectly good clothes and actually WEAR this. I decided to do my hair and makeup first, obviously because it meant less time in the costume. I put on the green opaque tights, thus deepening my already acute disdain for the appearance of my legs. I put on the red long-sleeved shirt. Then….the Robin Hood tunic. Oh, the tunic. I come out of the stall, and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I can’t get myself to leave the bathroom. The tunic barely comes down below my bum, and if I raise my arm even slightly, we’ve got Debbie Does Christmas. Not to mention the fact that I look so unbelievably ridiculous I could puke all over my silver elf shoes.

Finally, GW comes in after me. They’re ready for me. I show her the tunic problem. Tunic problems were a common concern back in the year of our Lord 1570, not so much anymore these days. GW ascribes herself as my tunic guardian. She says: “Oh, we have to get a picture of you before you leave!” Daggers sprang from my eyes and pierced the center of her forehead, after which she swiftly took back her previous statement. Together we enter the cultural hall, as Sister Friendly introduces me with this tired/energetic voice…

“Okay, boys and girls! Here she is! Santa’s Little Helperrrrrrrr!”

All eyes are on me, the slutty, fashion-senseless elf. I’m hearing whispers from the parents about my green legs, my pointy hat, my alien shoes. I recognize some faces, all of whom are wearing this look of both amusement and pity, as they shake their heads slowly from side to side. Cameras poised. I wanted to smash those cameras.

GW strategically stands in front of me as I begin my descent into the chair, careful not to expose myself. When what did my wondering did appear? Hordes of children, and gladly zero reindeer!

The minute I started talking to these kids, I felt my self-consciousness evaporate. They were so into it! They were excited to tell me about their Christmas plans. They wanted to sit on my lap and give me hugs. I could not believe it. I was enveloped in the most innocent and perfect love that only children can give you. I felt bad that I had been so selfish and vain about it all.

The hour flew, and GW told me my time was up. I said goodbye to the last two little boys who were with me, and carefully rose from my perch to change back into my street clothes.

I can’t say I would do it again. In fact, I don’t think I would. But the kids made it totally blog-worthy, and one of the top three choice experiences of Christmas 2005.