Can I say that? Like will you call me up and scold me for using that word? Because trust me, there was really no other way for me to put it. If you don’t agree after reading this, send me a message and I will personally apologize, and then add you to my list of people to send glitter cards to.
So a week before Christmas I remembered for the 20th time that I hadn’t yet gotten Christmas cards. So Saturday morning, tired, cranky, I rushed to Wal-Mart grabbed two random boxes and came back and ripped open one box.
Only to met by my nemesis.
Now, trust me, I did in fact glance at the boxes in Wal-Mart. They showed lovely images, sans glitter. No warning, no obvious sparkliness. No GIANT RED WARNING LABEL as should be the LAW for glitter products.
Given I had ripped open the box and the proximity to Christmas I did not want to return them to Wal-Mart. I KNOW. Mistake. However I couldn’t picture how it would go down as I tried to explain to the clerk at the return desk why it looked like I had decimated the box and also explain my theory on the evil nature of glitter. I mean, I know I’m crazy, I just didn’t feel the need to impose said crazy on the poor Wal-Mart clerk this close to Christmas when she was probably already inundated with crazy customers on a daily basis. YOU’RE WELCOME Wal-Mart clerk.
So, I culled our Christmas list, who really needed a card, who would understand the glitter faux pas, and who should I skip because I knew they would appreciate that gesture more than getting a glitter covered card. (Amy, you’re welcome :))
If you’re wondering, this is the event that precipitated the Glitter conversation with my husband. My conscience was heavy with glitter-guilt. But I sucked it up, sent out the cards, and prayed I was not making enemies out of friends.
A few weeks earlier I decided to order some fair trade wrapping paper online. Yes, I know, who orders fair trade wrapping paper? Crazy people who hate glitter, that’s who. It wasn’t that much more than regular wrapping paper and it was actually hand-woven paper with beautifully intricate designs. The order arrives and I set the package aside for use later.
So the cards get sent out and again we lose track of time and Christmas is like a day away. The husband volunteers to start wrapping the presents. BTW, he is an amazing present wrapper. My presents always look like a four-year old with a set of dull scissors and unlimited supply of tape did the wrapping. He takes the presents and paper up to our room to wrap so that the foster kiddos don’t see. I blithely leave him to it, not caring about the details of how they get wrapped, and we end up with great looking wrapped gifts.
And then I go upstairs to bed later, and I sit for a moment on the edge of the bed, and I look down at our quilt.
ALL OVER OUR BED.
There is no font or other appropriate way for me to express the shear horror and panic I felt at that moment.
Apparently other than being hand-woven and fair trade, our wrapping paper was also coated with glitter. GLITTER, how do they have GLITTER in Ecuador where this was made? Did they import it just for this fair trade project because they heard those yuppy Americans are just crazy about glitter?
Now you are all like, dude just breath, and put your quilt in the washer. No can do. We have a queen size bed with a king sized quilt, because I am a giant blanket hog according to someone. And because those quilts that say are “full/queen” size are a total lie, they are always too small for a queen bed. The cliff notes to this particular situation is that our king size quilt does not fit in our washer.
So here I am HYPERVENTILATING because my bed now looks like a cheap prostitute’s boudoir. Yes, I just went there, you know me, how could I not? And it’s a great image, Pastor’s wife, glitter covered bed, so so wrong.
And because as I sat there, I realized, Glitter-Karma had struck, and it struck proportional to the level of glitter-sin I had mailed out ‘en mass’ to unsuspecting friends.
And now you know that glitter is buddhist.