I’ve got a terrible case of glitter today.
Don’t laugh. Glitter is a very real affliction. More people’s lives are affected by glitter than by stroke and heart disease combined.
Glitter is just like herpes. It’s not dangerous or deadly, but it’s super annoying. You think it’s just in one place, but then it spreads to other places. Most of the time, you’re not even sure where it came from. But once you’ve got it, it’s nearly impossible to get rid of. And you can give it to anyone you have contact with. Even if you just touch them. So really, it’s worse than herpes.
I mean, not that I’ve ever had herpes or anything. But I’ve heard stories. You know.
With a little girl in the house, we’re always in danger of a glitter attack. On one occasion, Leah must have stuffed some glitter in one of her pockets, because when I did the laundry, all of our clothing was covered in glitter. I remember my husband holding up one of his white dress shirts for work with a horrified look on his face when he saw it was covered in shiny specks. I can’t go to work dressed like Beyonce!
This morning, I know exactly how I contracted my case of glitter. Leah brought home a baggie of glitter from preschool, and she decided to do a project with it in the wee hours of the morning. By the time I discovered what was going on, there was glitter all over the floor of her room. I attempted to clean it up, but I was already dressed for work, so not only did I barely make a dent in our glitter infestation, I ended up catching glitter.
So during my entire drive to work, I’m busy brushing glitter off my slacks. To the point where I nearly crash my car dealing with this stupid glitter. Seriously, it is freaking everywhere. This is the worst.
When I get into the elevator, I give George the Elevator Guy an enthusiastic hello. George nods in my direction, looking critically at my glitter-stained clothing. I should have changed my clothes while I still had a chance.
As we approach the sixth floor, George looks down at the ground where I was standing. He frowns at me. “You got glitter all over the floor.”
I look down. He’s right. There must have been a glitter pocket trapped in the sole of my shoe, because there’s now glitter all over the floor of the elevator. I’m telling you—worse than herpes.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Aren’t you going to clean that up?”
We reach the sixth floor and the doors to the elevator open up. This is my floor, but George is still staring at me expectantly. Does he really think I’m going to clean the floor of the elevator? I mean, I don’t want to sound like a diva or anything, but is he kidding me? I work here as a doctor.
Maybe George doesn’t realize I’m a doctor. Even though I do walk around with an ID badge that says “PHYSICIAN” in big black block letters. Maybe he thinks I have some sort of housekeeping job at the hospital.
“You know, I’m a doctor,” I tell him.
George just keeps glaring at me. I don’t think I made the situation better.
I’m not cleaning up this glitter. Even if I wanted to clean it up, I’m not even sure how I’d do it. Does he expect me to find a janitor and borrow a mop?
Maybe he does.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I actually have a patient right now, but… I can call housekeeping, okay?”
George frowns at me.
“Is that okay?” I say again, more timidly.
“I guess it’ll have to be,” he says with a shrug.
I practically run out of the elevator. As the doors close, I check the soles of my shoes, which are absolutely covered in glitter. Oh God, it’s probably all over the floor of my car. Worse—I probably tracked it into the daycare and now Mila’s never going to let me hear the end of it. And the worst part is that it’s still all over my clothing.
I walk into Primary Care C, where Dr. Kirschstein is standing there in his white coat with a patient chart in hand. He looks down at the floor where I’m still somehow depositing glitter everywhere I walk.
“Sorry, Dr. Kirschstein,” I mumble. “My daughter… there was glitter in her room and…”
He frowns at me. I’m scared that I really am somehow going to get court marshaled for this. “I’m bringing you my wife’s book on child management,” he says.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, thanks.”
“This time I won’t forget,” he says. “I think you could benefit from it, Doctor.”
I stand by my original assertion—glitter is worse than herpes.
(But it’s better than play-doh.)
This was an excerpt from my new book, The Devil You Know. Buy a copy on Amazon today for only $2.99!