All that glitters

is not gold. In fact, I kind of hate it. Its always the babysitters that do the glitter projects. The latest was my birthday cards. Adorable. They were proud of them.

But now my house looks like the aftermath of a rave. I have vacuumed, mopped and hand-wiped the floors. Its still there. Its on the bottom of my shoes, in Lucy's scalp, in the dog bowl.

This ain't no disco.

The violators