Grass Gods Be Damned

Until now, I’ve always been relieved that glitter only enters my house once a year – only IF I accidentally buy Christmas cards that have it.  But it doesn’t matter, because there’s always at least 3 cards that show up in my mailbox with it.  And then I’m finding glitter in places it shouldn’t be for the next six God damned months.

The same goes for Easter grass.

Even after we wash clothes, vacuum, and go through the house with a fine-toothed comb, there’s always a rogue piece or two that somehow finds their way into MY UNDERWEAR, and when I sit down to take care of business, there it is, on the damn paperwork.  Then I’m like “well that explains why my butthole was itching since my shower this morning”.


But that hasn’t been quite an issue in the last couple of years.  The Easter bunny got smart, and started putting paper grass in our baskets.

Getting back to glitter, I have a sneaking suspicion the Easter bunny thinks he’s going to be funny by leaving glitter eggs all over my house.  I am not happy about this, because that means I’ll most likely be finding glitter in my underwear, cleavage, nostrils, cooch, and God only knows where else until Christmas time, when I will threaten people NOT to send me cards with glitter.

On a related note, I can’t wait until tomorrow – the one day where I can enjoy a few pieces of candy without guilt.  Just a few…..

1 thought on “Grass Gods Be Damned

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