An alleged friend of Nutty Hubby’s and mine sent us a Christmas card that sheds micro glitter like a sparkly vampire with the world’s worst case of dandruff.
I don’t know what we did to her to deserve this kind of punishment or how we’ll be able to properly atone so it doesn’t happen again next holiday season, but what I do know is thanks to handling that most egregious travesty of holiday correspondence I will now be finding glitter on my desk and in my carpet and in my pores for approximately the next fifty years. Assuming I don’t die before then, in which case my cremation will make for one very festive urn of ashes indeed.
Last night, as I tried for the eleventh time to get a single stubborn fleck of the godforsaken stuff off the tip of my index finger (an emery board eventually did the trick) I found myself wondering who it was we had to castigate thank for making the herpes of the craft world possible. So I typed my glittering way over to Wikipedia to find out.
“The first production of modern plastic glitter is credited to the American machinist Henry Ruschmann, who found a way to cut plastic or mylar sheets into glitter in 1934.” – Wikipedia1,2
Dear Wikipedia,
You misspelled “masochist”.
Dear Henry Ruschmann,
1 “Glitter.” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 13 Dec. 2016. Web. 16 Dec. 2016.
2 Yes, I know people were using other shit as glitter long before my new nemesis Henry, but sometimes you just need to hate someone with a name.
Spoken Like A True Nut 
Oh, dear. You already know what I’m going to say… my Christmas cards are loaded with glitter, and everyone sort of expects it. If you don’t want glitter in your house, you open my card outside! One year, a friend commented that his card seemed a little light on the glitter, compared to my usual standards; the next year, his card came in an envelope stuffed with loose glitter. They had to move apartments, and as far as I know, the owner has never been able to rent that one again.
I’m not just a glitter enthusiast; I’m a glitter smartass. Embrace the glitter, learn to love it, and send her back twice as much next year.
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I didn’t want to like this comment, but the glitter particles have gotten into my brain and I no longer have a will of my own.
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I once got glitter in my eye. Nearly blinded me.
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I wonder how many people out there with eyepatches are the victims of glitter but will never admit it.
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I would never hesitate to admit it. Because glitter is the Devil’s craft supply.
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My husband will really, really appreciate this.
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But if it wasn’t for glitter, we would never have had David Bowie. And that would have been tragic. We wouldn’t have had Gary Glitter either–not so tragic…
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I love glitter until it gets on me. I’d make a terrible stripper. For way more reasons than just the glitter thing, but still.
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