All The Sparkly Bits.

I love glitter.  Love it.  If I can put glitter on something, I will.  If it won't glitter, I'll sew a sequin on it.  I'm the crafty equivalent of a crow.  More glitter!  More rhinestones!  Stick feathers on it!  If it's not shiny, something has gone terribly wrong.

If you have ever once used glitter, you know that it clings to you, gets embedded into carpets, stuck in the fibers of your clothes, and even up your nose.  (In the middle of a craftventure, it's not unlikely for me to sneeze out a glittery snot ball.)

I also wear sequined clothes regularly.  It's almost unheard of for me to get dressed and not put on at least one sparkly object.  My laundry basket could be mistaken for a vegas showgirl's. 

Last month, the only pay dryer in my apartment building broke.  (I'm the only tenant without my own machines hooked up in the basement, and am the only one that regularly uses the pay machines.)  I notified the landlord, who told me he would dispatch someone to fix it, then joked to some friends that it was probably clogged with glitter and sequin debris.

It took a month of calling about the dryer and going to the laundromat before someone came out, but this afternoon a man came and was working on the machine in the basement.  I happened to go downstairs to retrieve a box, and stopped to see what he was doing, because he was emptying a tray of glittery particles he had retrieved from the dryer into the garbage.  I pretty much ran away as fast as I could after I saw that.  I was afraid he would see me and shout 'hey!  You there with the sparkly shirt and glittery shoes and weird thing on your head!  Did you clog this dryer with sparkles?!'  And I would have to confess, and explain that the thing on my head was a plush cupcake with a birthday candle mounted on a headband, and that I was wearing it because it needed to be held upright while the glue dried, because I was putting glitter on it.  So I ran upstairs.

After he left, I went to check the dryer.  It is now working fine, and the proof was in the garbage can: a handful of glitter in a variety of martha stewart designer colors.