When I reached the parking lot of a certain store planning to purchase a Christmas gift, I didn’t have any expectations. I didn’t have any worries, concerns, fears, stresses or other synonyms that time failed to provide me with through a Google search.

Remember Spiderman 3? How could any of us forget. It was as close as a movie can be to a train wreck in the sense that you couldn’t look away from it. And it was terrible. Why did I bring this up? Thank you for bringing me back from the tangent multiverse. I mentioned this disaster of a movie because of the part when Tobey Maguire becomes a different person, strut dances down the street and receives various looks from other people. The bottom line here is his carefree attitude. Well, as I was walking toward the entrance, I was as close to Tobes’ state of mind as I will probably ever get. Was it the same? Was I strutting or dancing in the parking lot? Did I have my collar popped? Was I wearing a black suit? Did I spin or clap? The answer to each of these questions is emphatically, no. I could never be that carefree. Not like Tobes. He really did it. A real triumph. Meanwhile, I can’t even be carefree while listening to “Carefree Highway” by Gordon Lightfoot.

Still, I was very much in my own little world as I headed through the crosswalk. My mind was happily unaware of the dangers and the proximity to them. It was a lesson soon to be learned, in blood…

Okay. No blood. I added that part because I thought it sounded cool, which it did by the way. However, just to reiterate, there was no blood involved. It was something worse. Far worse. An ancient evil, so old that no one knows when it first came into being. It is an evil that has preyed upon millions of unsuspecting people. It feels no remorse, no responsibility, and no fear.

The doors gave way to the entrance corridor, carpeted and full of goods overflowing from the main building. Then with a turn, the corridor opened into the main store. I grabbed the item for which I ventured, unknowingly about to face one of my greatest enemies. I chose a checkout lane. This was folly. Whatever lane I choose is never the best lane. Ahead of me, the person at the front of the line must have had what some would call a plethora of items. Meanwhile, behind me, a staff member walked up to the person in line just after me and gave them a guided escort to another lane that was unoccupied. Me, a white male, thought for a moment and settled on, “Yeah, that’s fair.” I watched her go longingly, to land where lanes are free of people. I decided to stay in my lane lest I follow her and she think of me as a stalker. She was not my interest. In truth I wanted to be her, to be at the counter, to be seconds from leaving the store. My time was not to be, yet. 

So I waited, and waited, and, “Wait, what is that under my feet?” No, it couldn’t be. Oh yes, it was. And not just a little. Not just a lottle. Not just a smidgeon. Not just a smodgeon. I realize a couple of those are not real words. Poetic license you guys, that thing we talked about in like 4th grade and was never mentioned again. I think it means I can use fake words in my writing. And I do. So you will listen to every word I have to say. 

How much of this mystery stuff was on the floor below my feet? How much covered every bit of carpeted rug, tile, and square inch of floor space? How much would I see in the entrance corridor on the way out that coated every nook, fake wood decoration, artificial flower, winter wreath and cutesy wall sign? Suddenly that apple cinnamon scent which was faint upon entry turned sickly as if the very air I breathed was a poisonous fume. Yes, it was like Mordor, but worse. It was Hobby Lobby. It was at that moment I decided that store earned my undying hatred for what it brought to me and my family, mainly because the stuff under my feet came home with me. It is inescapable, it is unavoidable, it is eternal. It was a buttload of glitter.

Glitter, you may have won this round and every other round since I was born, but someday soon you and your family are going down. You shall perish in flames. 

And to the person for whom I purchased the gift and unwillingly sacrificed myself to the evils of glitter, from this moment on know that I will do anything for a Christmas gift, but I won’t go to Hobby Lobby. Wasn’t that a Meatloaf song? It’s okay, I will still get you a couple other things you want. Now don’t be sad, cause two out of three ain’t bad.