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.