Shiny. But deadly.

Hello, little blog. I’ve been away a long, long time, now haven’t I? I didn’t forget about you, and the fives of people who read you did not forget about you either, because they’ve all been on my ass about updating you.

Further, the nice ladies at Blogher who so kindly stick their ads over to the right over there, also were sort of wondering why I’ve been ignoring you. They were all, “Um, I thought you said you posted at least three times a week,” and I was all, “I thought I only had to do that for the NaPlaBlahMoMaNo-whatever thing in November,” and they were all, “yeah, but you didn’t do it in November either,” and I was all, “Hey! Look! A shoe sale! Seriously, look over there!” And then I ran away really fast and hid in some bushes.

So, a lot of bloggers spent the holidays writing about their shopping lists, their relatives coming to town, their revelations from the past year and their hopes for the new one. I could do NONE of that. You see, I am practically paralyzed by the holidays. I dread them. I think of them only with fear and horror.

It’s all the damned glitter.

Glitter, you see, is a highly dangerous and toxic substance. What? You were not aware that you could DIE from glitter overdose? Well, you can, Mr. Head-In-The-Sand. I know this because in first grade, I was told about it by a freckley-faced, pig-tailed little girl named Kim. She was delightful in everyway, and we were having a most fantastic time with a vat of Elmer’s and a few shakers of glitter. It was an extremely educational activity, wherein our teacher had mimeographed off some poorly drawn candy canes and tossed them on a table where we were assigned the challenging task of painting the candy canes with glue, then sprinkling glitter upon them. If I recall, the next step would be cutting them out and trying not to completely screw up the scissors with soggy wet mimeograph paper, but alas – we never got that far.

The teacher, a sturdy substitute with thick glasses and a wig that seemed to be put on completely backwards had left the project table for a few minutes, presumably for a quick nip from a shiny flask of ripple she kept in her 18-hour bra, and Kim and I were left alone. Being ever the efficient task-master, I decided that instead of gently sprinkling the glitter upon the sea of Elmer’s, I could save precious minutes as well as end up with a superiorly-covered product by removing the lid from the glitter shaker and dumping the glitter on the glue. Just as Kim looked up from her project, I put my 6 year old lips to the edge of the table and gave a mighty puff. The excess glitter flew away, and I was left with a perfectly covered candy cane.

And that’s when the screaming started. “MY EYES! MY EYES!” Kim shouted. She had her narrow fingers over her face and went on, “DON’T YOU KNOW GLITTER CAN KILL YOU?”

“Uh. Actually I kind of did NOT know that, Kim.”

“YEAH, WELL IT CAN KILL YOU, GLITTER CAN KILL YOU.”

“M, kay. Um. How?”

“It is VERY sharp! What if it woulda went in my EYE?”

“Okay, seriously. It didn’t even GO in your eye? You’re just worried about it going in your eye?”

“Yes! It’s so sharp! If it even gets in your hair it can cut your head and they can't get it out it just stays in your head and you'll be bleeding in your hair!”

This is where I sort of lost interest. After all, my candy cane was extremely shiny, and the edges were quite perfect, if I do say so myself.

But Kim wasn’t done. She dropped the bomb.

“I know, because my mom is A SUBSTITUTE TEACHER!”

If that ain't a reliable source of potential craft supply injuries, I do not know what is.

From that minute on, I pretty much have just tried to stay inside from Thanksgiving until January 2. I'm so glad the nightmare is over. At least for another year.