It has been said that there are substances on Earth more vile than glitter. I beg to differ. There is simply no substance, not solid, not liquid, nor gas, more pervasive and disturbing than the tiny, shimmery shards. And I, having been covered in every bodily fluid a child can produce, often all simultaneously, know of what I attest. Glitter serves the sole purpose of indicating who is and/or has been recently in the company of a stripper. And by "recently" I mean "ever", as pieces of glitter have been known to outlast Mexican tattoos. One little piece can follow you for decades, sticking to shoes, carpet, car seats, transferring from eyelid to keyboard and back again, even adhering to your cheek for weeks on end, laughing in the face of repeated exfoliation. I'd happily trade each piece of glitter on my living room floor for an overhydrated team of live slugs.
Dear Cousin Adam, I consider the inclusion of glitter in a greeting card to be an act of aggression.
Last Christmas, my (um, Jewish?) cousin Adam sent a shard-laden envelope disguised with some seemingly benign ho-ho-ho-ery. Yesterday, I found evidence of Christmas' past right there on my kitchen counter. Almost 4 months, and countless vacuum and wind storm sessions after it arrived. Glitter: the gift that keeps on giving. I feel perfectly justified in reciprocating by sending my cousin's four year old son a full drum set and a set of steak knives. I'd say we're even.