Up the Glitter

So there I was, 5:30am, the three “S’s” already finished and getting ready to leave for work. I put one of the bedroom lights on and searched for the shirt of the day when an accusatory noise came from the bed.

“Where were you last night?”

“Sorry, what are you on about?”

“Your knickers, where were you?”

Stumbling around at that time of the morning I am not a pretty sight, trying to figure out what is wrong with the said “Y” fronts I contorted myself round and round until, finally, the sparkles caught my eye.

Glitter, loads off it, on my skiddies! These were fresh out of the drawer only two minutes before, but, yes, they looked like a disco mirror ball, sparkling gayer than John Travolta.

“Uurgh, I don’t know what happened, no idea at all” I said, removing the offending article of clothing, reaching into the drawer for pair number two…which were also “glittered up to fuck”

No time to argue, another two pairs were removed all in similar condition. Pair number five however were fine. Swiftly sliding into the non sparkling underwear, I got dressed and left the house with the air off “I’ve been up to no good” lying in the room behind me.

Cue 6pm, arriving back home, no crossed arms and tapping fingers, no furrowed eyebrows, perhaps more importantly, no more glittery knickers.

The story unfolds, seems like my daughter had been at a friends house, and as all thirteen year old girls will, spent the evening trying out makeup. A body cream with glitter was among them. This off course migrated onto her T shirt, where it stayed until the housegirl washed it along with, yes, my underwear!

“Not Guilty”