Touched by the Glitter Gods

I’ve always been a goner for glitter, and I don’t know how that happened, except my mother must have had something to do with it–and my father too, come to think of it. Once for Mother’s Day, my father gave my mother the most beautiful shoes I had ever seen. I was 9. The shoes looked like the slippers Cinderella wore to the ball. They were mostly made out of clear something–what could it have been back then? Plastic probably. The transparent heels would have been made from Lucite had they been in this era. They were high-heeled sandals, and inside those clear high heels was glitter. They sparkled when the light hit them–they were magic. I was enchanted, and so excited that my mother would receive such a wonderfully glamorous and glittery gift. I knew she’d love them.

Well, my mother did like glitter and sparkle, but apparently not in her shoes. Much to my and my father’s great disappointment, she took them back and exchanged them for something “more sensible.” The glitter and the glamour went with those shoes, but I’ve never forgotten them. The gods of glitter had spoken.

Ever since, I have found myself inextricably drawn to the stuff–the glitter, not the glamour. It can be on clothes, on paper, on pencils, in toothbrush handles, or in picture frames. A few years ago I bought a hula hoop just for its holographic glitter motif. It is wonderful just to look at. I even have a glitter shower curtain–holographic glitter on a clear plastic curtain that reflects light in rainbow colors. And I have a glitter strip on my workout shoes–they are the envy of everyone at my gym–well, men excepted, I suppose.

Last year I got the bright idea of glittering the steps to my door. I just sprinkle fine multi-colored glitter on the steps and the path leading to them. Each time I come home I feel like I am entering into the land of the enchanted–or at least the land of glitter–same thing.

I try not to overdo it. Just a touch of glitter goes a long way. Too much and either you don’t even notice it–a terrible waste, or, too much can be too noticeable and look on the verge of garish–and we can’t have that.

During my stint working for Club Med I was in glitter heaven. Everyone working at a Club participates in the nightly shows that are the evening entertainment. Glitter is a mainstay of the costume and make-up departments. No glitter, no show.

Yesterday I was at Macy’s. While there, I had a glitter attack. My eyes caught the glint of sparkle–but how could it be? The sparkle had come from what looked like ordinary jeans. But wait, they weren’t ordinary at all. The faded–but not shredded–blue denim was alive with the finest dusting of silver glitter. Look at it one way and you see blue jeans, but just the slightest shift in your gaze and sparkles glisten. I was 9 again, and I was hooked.

As you might have guessed, I was in the Juniors’ Department. They don’t make fun things like glitter jeans for grown-ups, which is what I allegedly am. That’s why I find the Juniors’ clothes so much more interesting and that’s why I buy many of my clothes there. But had I lost my mind on this one? Well, maybe I had, but do I care? Not in the least. These jeans are my best find of this soon-to-end year.

So, there I was last night at an hour at which I would normally have been long since asleep, but the glitter had worked its magic and it was while I was in that entranced state that my toe had its collision.

That did bring a certain jarring reality to the scene in the way that only stabbing pain can, but perhaps miraculously, it also brought back the memory of the glitter shoes from whose unfortunate return to the store I have never fully recovered. Was this a message from the glitter gods? Maybe those shoes have been reincarnated and are out there somewhere, just waiting for me to find them and give them a second chance…