I know it is coming, and soon. She's been talking about it since the middle of last week. I know that it is heart-shaped, and she made it herself, and I will love it. But, alas, I also know that it will bring annoying little sparkly bits into my house, little bits that I will find in random places, stuck to the bottoms of socks, catching the light from some obscure location like the inside of the freezer or the tip of a dog's nose, for months, even years to come. Glitter. The Valentine's card that my sweet girl is making for me will be beautiful and glittery - I knew even before she told me about the glitter, because I spotted some sparkling in her hair. I will love it because she made it for me with love, and she's the sweetest little girl ever - but I may encase it in a plastic baggie before it enters my home. To minimize the spread.
Previous glitter-covered artistic creations are displayed in my office at work, in case you wondered - they're tacked to the bulletin board next to my desk, so those glittery creations - a gold leaf by the boy, and several glitter-covered pictures by the girl - haven't brought their lovely sparkly bits into the house. And Henry Ruschmann? He's the man who invented glitter in its current cheap, mass-produced form.