The Sparkling Truth

This is a sparkle ...

It will never go away. It will always be with me. I'll vacuum it up. I'll dust it up. I'll pick it up. I'll wash it out. I foam it away. I'll buy a goddam flame thrower and burn the fucking thing out.

The next day, the little prick will be back.

This sparkle came from a party I went to on New Years. Here's what happened. It was early in the evening. Everybody was excited about the new year ... and the party. It was festive. And what better companion to "festive" than "sparkle," close cousin to "glitter." The hostesses became literally fountains of sparkle, spewing forth the glitter and shine onto the ornaments, the walls, the works of art, the floors ... and the people.

They sparkle-washed their guests' faces. No one was safe. They waited in hiding, fists clenched around balls of compressed sparkles ready to explode into unwary faces ... and the unwary were many.

The sparkles made their way into the 2008 New Year on the guests' clothing, in their hair (where, I swear, they propagated faster than head lice on steroids), in their ears, in their noses and eye lashes, in their shoes, on their shoes, under their shoes ... in their crotches. Never underestimate the penetration power of sparkles.

They made their way into the homes, the cars, the workplaces of the guests. I noticed my first sparkles New Years Day, littering a section of my bed. I smiled. Quaint, I thought. My bed's sparkling. Next, I saw the trail of sparkles leading from my bed, down the hall and out the door. There were sparkles in the kitchen. The washroom. On the walls. How did they get on the walls? They were in my clothing, They were in my hair (not for long though ... I had my hair cut down to the scalp that night). I found them under my fingernails, lodged in my teeth, dangling from my ears, embedded in my belly button. I staggered to the washroom to empty out the three bottles of wine I'd drunk the night before. Yep, it sparkled.

Over the following weeks, I found sparkles in my car, in my keyboard at work, in the elevator where I work, in my mailbox ... they were everywhere. They permeated my life. A month after the party, I blew my nose. There on the Kleenex ... a sparkle.

I swear, everyone who went to that party will be shitting sparkles for the rest of their lives. Next New Years, I'm going to a party where they just drop a ten thousand pound weight on your head and get on with it.