The Elf 

A conversation between me and my 13 y/o yesterday. 

13y/o: You look like an elf.

 Me: (raised eyebrows) Excuse me?  

13y/o:(backtracking) Not cuz you’re short. You look like you belong in a forest, running past trees 

Me: (I glance at my brown leggings and hunter green tunic and admit I am looking arboreal). Really? Running? 

13y/o: Yeah, you’re right. You’d make way too much noise stomping through the forest. And you’d probably fall down a lot, too, and they’d have to kill you for scaring everything away. 

Me: (offended) I can run. And I can be stealthy when I want.

 13y/o: (rolls her eyes) If you call moving like a T-rex on a caffeine withdrawal running, sure. You can run.

 Me: (becoming angry) A T-rex? 

13y/o: Yeah. (She puts her elbows into her sides and waves her hands, bellowing in what I can only describe as a tortured bray or a cross between a dying whale and a discordant cow). A T-rex. 

Me: I’m leaving now.

 13y/o: (She shouts to my retreating back). If you want to be an elf, best to stay at the main tree, but on the ground where it’s safe because, you know, falling.

 Kids. 

(C) Sara Ackerman 2016

2 thoughts on “The Elf 

    1. Yeah, this one has too many “out of the mouths” for me to call her innocent as a babe. I swear, she gets all her sassiness from her dad, who of course says it’s all me. I guess we’ll never know.

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