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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2BXhAfy:
deputychairman:
There comes a time in a woman’s life when she finally gives in and buys glitter for her children to perform a nebulous Christmas related arts and crafts task, and in the very moment when she hands over her money to the lady in the shop she sees her future: glitter, glitter everywhere. Stuck to the table. Glued to the floor. As shimmering surface on the butter. In everyone’s hair, under our nails, on our clothes. Billowing out in a stormcloud of sparking red and silver, catching the light and settling in new and unexpected places when you try to sweep it up. I am living that future, friends, and I have only myself to blame.
On the plus side though, the kitchen looks *super* festive.
this happened to us when we were making bows for my sister’s holiday decór sidebusiness. Middle-Little and I got a whole bunch of spools of ribbon, much of it glitter-bedecked, and one night Farmsister and her husband went out to the symphony and left us two babysitting their child. We put the baby to bed and then spent hours making bows in their kitchen– this was back when they lived in the apartment section of the house, so it was a two-room house, so really it was the kitchen/living/dining room. When they got back we’d packed the bows away and were trying to sweep up the glitter. We blamed strippers.
Unfortunately Farmsister is not really gullible enough to believe that a horde of magical strippers descended upon the farmstead and transformed her spools of ribbon into finished bows, elves-and-the-shoemaker-style, but it does make for a great story, doesn’t it? So when she found the boxes of completed bows she knew it was us, and now expects us to do it every year.
Hey at least it’s not my kitchen/dining/living room… and she has more rooms now so we can keep it largely confined to the dining room. The bonus of that room is that the ancient wooden floor (original to the 1825 house) has such gaps between the planks that you can sweep it without a dust pan, and all that glitter just goes raining down into the basement…
At any point if the house changes hands someone is going to really be curious why the unfinished, packed-earth-floor basement is full of glitter. But that’s a question for another generation.
(My ghost will whisper out of the dry-stone wall, “wild parties with strippers,” and maybe they’ll believe me. Actually i hope my ghost has better shit to do but if nothing else, that basement really does deserve a haunt of its own. it’s a creepy-ass basement.)
(Your picture was not posted)
deputychairman:
There comes a time in a woman’s life when she finally gives in and buys glitter for her children to perform a nebulous Christmas related arts and crafts task, and in the very moment when she hands over her money to the lady in the shop she sees her future: glitter, glitter everywhere. Stuck to the table. Glued to the floor. As shimmering surface on the butter. In everyone’s hair, under our nails, on our clothes. Billowing out in a stormcloud of sparking red and silver, catching the light and settling in new and unexpected places when you try to sweep it up. I am living that future, friends, and I have only myself to blame.
On the plus side though, the kitchen looks *super* festive.
this happened to us when we were making bows for my sister’s holiday decór sidebusiness. Middle-Little and I got a whole bunch of spools of ribbon, much of it glitter-bedecked, and one night Farmsister and her husband went out to the symphony and left us two babysitting their child. We put the baby to bed and then spent hours making bows in their kitchen– this was back when they lived in the apartment section of the house, so it was a two-room house, so really it was the kitchen/living/dining room. When they got back we’d packed the bows away and were trying to sweep up the glitter. We blamed strippers.
Unfortunately Farmsister is not really gullible enough to believe that a horde of magical strippers descended upon the farmstead and transformed her spools of ribbon into finished bows, elves-and-the-shoemaker-style, but it does make for a great story, doesn’t it? So when she found the boxes of completed bows she knew it was us, and now expects us to do it every year.
Hey at least it’s not my kitchen/dining/living room… and she has more rooms now so we can keep it largely confined to the dining room. The bonus of that room is that the ancient wooden floor (original to the 1825 house) has such gaps between the planks that you can sweep it without a dust pan, and all that glitter just goes raining down into the basement…
At any point if the house changes hands someone is going to really be curious why the unfinished, packed-earth-floor basement is full of glitter. But that’s a question for another generation.
(My ghost will whisper out of the dry-stone wall, “wild parties with strippers,” and maybe they’ll believe me. Actually i hope my ghost has better shit to do but if nothing else, that basement really does deserve a haunt of its own. it’s a creepy-ass basement.)
(Your picture was not posted)
