My dear roommate and I have this little thing going on.  We don’t talk about it.  See, we almost never see each other these days.  Here’s what happens.

Remember the Christmas elves?

The guy on the right is the really beat-up one.  He enjoyed a brief life as the family dog’s chew toy.  Each of my siblings and I have one, and somehow I ended up with two this year.  Okay, that’s a lie.  The nice one was in my bag of ornaments.  I stole the scary one because I knew my roommate thought they were creepy.

I left him in the living room.  I came home to find him in my bed.  I left him on her dresser.  Found him in the kitchen.  Left him chilling.

Found him in a compromising position.

Left him in the cabinet above the sink.   When I got home from work last night (no one was home) I’d forgotten about him.  I open my closet to hang up my sweater, and there he is.  Dangling from a hanger.

Where oh where shall he be next?

(Which reminds me, I need to take a picture of my brother’s Day of the Dead sculpture in his new Christmas sweater.  Here is last year’s outfit:

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