National Double Cheeseburger Day and Santa thinks one patty is plenty — so I doubled everything and took it to the wrapping room where nobody could hear me. Grease from my chin to my thighs and the apron gave up two bites ago. Want to come tell me what else I should double, naughty elf? 💋
International Chocolate Day and the fondue pot's been on low since the elves went home — I ran out of strawberries three dips ago and just started pouring it straight down. Come tell me where to drizzle the last of it, naughty elf. 💋
National Peanut Day and Santa's allergic to nuts — so the whole candy kitchen's been mine since breakfast, and the caramel got everywhere I couldn't reach. Come tell me where to peel it off first, naughty elf. 💋
National Chocolate Milkshake Day and Santa can't stand chocolate — so the blender's been mine all morning. More of it ended up on my skin than in the glass and I stopped looking for a towel two refills ago. Come tell me where I missed a spot, naughty elf. 💋
National Hot Cross Bun Day and I've been kneading since before anyone else was up — got a perfect tray cooling and a frosting cross piped straight down my stomach that's already melting south. Where should I pipe the next one, naughty elf? 💋
National TV Dinner Day and I'll admit it — even a frozen Salisbury steak tastes better than anything Santa's ever put on a plate. Sprawled on his couch with the tray on my lap and my nightie riding up past the point of caring. Come keep me company while the commercials run, naughty elf. 💋
National Steak Au Poivre Day and Santa thinks pepper comes pre-ground in a shaker — so I crushed every corn myself, flamed the cognac, and the cream sauce is still reducing while I stand here with nothing on but the heat. Come tell me how you like your meat, dirty reindeer. 💋
Santa built me a glass conservatory for my poinsettias and hasn't stepped inside it once in thirty years — the humidity's ruined my blouse and I've got soil on my hands and red petals stuck to my skin. You should see what else is blooming in here, naughty elf.
Labor Day's the one holiday I get right — I signed the schedule myself, gave every elf the day off, and caught a flight south before Santa noticed I was gone. The water's warm and my bikini top is somewhere back in the waves. Come tell me you'd keep my secret, naughty elf.
Brazil threw an independence party and I couldn't get a flight — so I dragged the grill out back and slow-roasted a whole picanha in the snow. Apron's the only thing still on and the skewer's not even close to done — come keep me warm while it cooks, naughty elf. 💋