Vacation: Noun: An extended period of recreation, esp. one spent away from home or in traveling.
(Thanks for the definition, Google.)
When I was a kid, we had house elves along on all our vacations. They made sure there was food in the cooler while we drove, clean underwear no matter how long our stay, and definitely did all the packing/unpacking/cleaning associated with traveling.
As an adult, I haven’t seen the vacation house elves. I had figured this was because we haven’t yet reached critical mass. After all, my parents had 6 children to contend with; clearly, they needed house elf assistance. Surely, I thought, the breaking point would come when there were officially more children than parents. That was when the nice little house elves would pop up and take care of all our vacation needs.
Unfortunately, the cake is a lie.
We went on vacation. There were three kids. There were two parents.
The house elves didn’t show up.
Just like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, the house elves apparently love my mother more than me. They left me on my own to wash the clothes, do the 4:30 a.m. feeding, and follow the children, grandparents, and DB around, reminding everyone repeatedly that no naps/late bedtime/too much sugar/too many fun stuffs/anything interesting make for very cranky, melt-down-y children.
Call me Captain Party Pooper, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what vacation is supposed to be like. It’s supposed to be like this:
Instead, it was… uh… well… pretty much like my normal life. Except in someone else’s house (love you Mom and Dad Dyer!). Oh, except I didn’t have to cook dinner. That was awesome.
Still, the house elves are falling down on the job. Major, big time. And do you know what that means?
It means this:
Meet me on Platform 9 3/4; we leave at midnight.