Today The Girls asked why they don’t have an Elf on the Shelf. Elf on the Shelf did not exist when they were younger, and it never occurred to me now that they are older that they might actually WANT an elf that spies on them all the time and reports back to Santa (although I personally think that is a fine idea). Being slightly short of funds at the moment, I put The Poinsettia Fairy in their room instead. The Poisettia Fairy does not spy. She does not report. She simply stares from her perch, smirking, existing as a seasonal reminder of one of my less shining moments as a human being. My punishment is to forever have my Christmas slightly dampened by her presence and the memory of how she came to live with us. Be prepared. This is the WORST Christmas story ever.

Many years ago my stepmom invited me to go to an ornament swap party with her. There were a lot of people there and I didn’t know any of them. The rules of the swap were that at each person’s turn, they could either open an ornament or steal someone else’s ornament. Each ornament could be stolen only twice. If your ornament was stolen, you got to open another one.

Ornaments were unwrapped and stolen with abandon. One lady had brought her younger sister with her, a woman in her early thirties we’ll call her Ella. Ella had Downs Syndrome. When it was Ella’s turn, she opened (you guessed it) The Poinsettia Fairy. The Fairy, as you can see, is not really an ornament. She is more of a doll, and Ella’s eyes shone when she looked at her. She hugged The Fairy to her chest and smiled like a child. It was a little bit of Christmas magic, and everyone could see it. Everyone except… The Witch.

When it was The Witch’s turn, she approached Ella. The older sister tensed.

“Ella, can I see your doll?” The Witch asked.

Ella smiled and held up the doll.

“Ella, can I touch your doll?” The Witch asked.

Ella nodded, and The Witch stroked the doll’s petals.

“Ella, can I hold your doll?” The Witch asked. And the older sister murmured, “Don’t you dare take her doll.”

Ella, trustingly, held out the doll. The Witch took it, and walked back to her seat.

I could not look at Ella. I could not look at anyone. I was, totally, completely shocked. Had these been my own friends, I would have called her out in a second, and she would have laughed and given back the doll. But these people, we didn’t know. They were older, and seemed unfazed by what had happened. Maybe that was the correct response. They were more familiar with this family. Maybe Ella was not as child-like as she seemed. Maybe she would not like to be treated differently from everyone else, perhaps she would find that condescending. But some very big part of me felt that something very wrong had just happened. And since no one else seemed to mind, I alone had the power to rectify it.

When my turn came, I walked up to The Witch and, without a word, held out my hand.

She looked disappointed. “Aw, you’re really stealing my doll?” She wasn’t kidding, she was actually upset about it! Since it was the second steal, no one could take The Fairy from me. I wanted to just hand the doll back to Ella right then and there, but maybe that would make everyone uncomfortable. Maybe everybody should have felt uncomfortable. Then again, I felt uncomfortable enough for all of us. I decided to slip it to her before she left, and worked out a strategy that seemed the most uncondescending. I would tell her I liked her new ornament better, and offer to trade the doll for it.

After the ornament exchange was the cookie exchange. We were to walk around the table and gather a few cookies from everyone’s plate. “Everyone” is apparently a much better baker than I am, so I was pretty happy with my upgraded stash of cookies. But in the middle of the exchange, while I was distracted by a particularly tempting looking plate of iced reindeer, Ella and her sister quietly made their way to the door. I hadn’t expected they would leave early, and I frantically looked for somewhere to rest my plate. I was hunting for where I had left The Fairy when I saw the ornament in her hand, the one she had opened after the doll was stolen.

It was the ornament I had brought to the exchange. Confusion! If I tell her I like that ornament better than the doll, well, that’s a lie. I bought an ornament someone else might like, not one I liked! Does she somehow know that’s the one I brought? Will she feel I am talking down to her, treating her differently? What to do, what to do… and while I figured out the path of least condescension, she slipped out the door and into the night.

I wish I could tell you I chased her out into the driveway. I wish I could tell you I asked the hostess for her address so I could mail it with an anonymous note. I wish I could tell you The Witch slipped on the ice on the way to her car and broke her leg. I can tell you none of those things.

Ah, Ella. I hope you have long forgotten The Poinsettia Fairy, and found other dolls to hug to your chest that make you smile like a child on Christmas morning. If it is any consolation,  I think of you every December, and remind myself to stand up a little stronger, to be a little louder in my conviction, and to follow my heart instead of my indecision.