Glitter. Almost As Bad As The Mariah Carey Movie.

When we were in Ottawa last week Josey brought along his life savings (a whole $6.11) to go on a shopping spree in the nearby mall. I steered him clear of the huge bin of Hershey's kisses at Bulk Barn, informed him that a Goldendoodle puppy cost slightly more than 6 bucks, and gently nudged him in the direction of the craft section of Scholar's Choice. He was overjoyed at the prospect of POM POMS! PAINT! GOOGLY EYES! I was so overjoyed at the prospect of him being occupied for more than 7.3 seconds that I didn't even consider the consequences of one of his purchases - glitter. At the time I thought it was a pretty benign choice and imagined homemade Christmas cards all a-shimmer in red and green.

Reality: wielding a glue stick and said glitter he created a masterpiece of swirling sparkles all over a huge piece of bristol board, then proceeded to turn it over and do the same on the other side. Every time he lifted it up to examine/admire/display/move/"fix" it, showers of red poured off and caught drafts, landing on every surface and spreading through the entire house.

Remember the Love Shack? "Glitter on the front porch / Glitter on the highway". That's us, except it's more like "Glitter in the hallway / Glitter in the grilled cheese sandwich". Bad, BAD decision.