glitter and buttons {a short story}

We stopped in Hurricane, Utah, to get the camper worked on. Just a little stop, not much time out of our day, and while I sat in the waiting room, I wrote a story. It's somewhat based on real life, in that I mention a waiting room in here, but don't go getting any ideas from this. It's just a story.

I know I said before that I wouldn't write all that many stories {and you can read the other short story I've written}; I'm better with real life.  But this one became a story before I knew what was happening, so there you go, the mystery of writing.

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“I would say buttons and glitter make everything better.”

The morning show is giving ideas for decorating Halloween, vintage style, and two over-blonde women call everything “darling.” They are the kind of women who have entire rooms dedicated to decoration storage in their immaculate homes—homes so ordered you question if people live there or simply sit with perfect posture and breathe sparingly.

One of them is holding up a noisemaker made from supplies you can find at your local craft store. “And I got everything I needed, all of it, for less than a dollar per item! Can you believe it?”

I can believe it because I can see that the noisemaker is nothing but a painted box with beans inside and a stick shoved in the bottom.

On the box, Blonde #1 is demonstrating how to paint a gruesome face. Scars seem essential, as does a toothy grin, menacingly maniacal. Blonde #2 coos over the ease of creating scariness. That's when she gives her useful tip: “I would say buttons and glitter make everything better.”

I imagine myself as her co-host, wearing a cake of foundation and fall colors that work well with my skintones under the studio lights. I give myself a scarf, wrapped with a chic expert touch, as chic as a French woman. (I also imagine that I did a segment on this last spring, teaching other women the secrets of being French, which include actually speaking French and owning a full Le Creuset set.)

“Oh why, yes, Amber! Glitter is such a snap to add to any project, and I like to think of it as economical bling! Now, let's just sprinkle some on our toothy grin! Oooh, now that's scary! It looks like our vintage noisemaker friend here has some food stuck in his teeth, a frightening faux-pas for sure!”

Amber laughs, and I laugh before turning to camera 2 to say, “Coming up next, we show you how to make glitter and button cookies! Because as Amber pointed out so smartly, those two things really do make everything better!”

I wouldn't make it long as a morning show co-host. It'd take a case of glitter and buttons to decorate my sarcasm, and even then, I don't think it'd cover it up very well.

On the real morning show, Blonde #1 has a better response to Blonde #2's glitter and button tribute: “Oh yes, glitter and buttons do make the world go 'round.”

She and her co-host smile at each other, and I look in their eyes for some small twinkle of recognition that they're appalled at what's coming out of their mouths. I'm looking for a secret sign that screams, “I didn't get a master's in women's literature from the Romantic period for this!”

I don't see one, but then again, the TV screen at the tire shop where I'm waiting is small and across the room, stuck in a corner by a stack of Goodyears. The morning show music starts to play, and Blonde #1 promises they'll be right back to show me how to make the most amazing sugar cookies I will ever eat.

“Miss, your car's all done. Keys are in it.” The tire guy, looking more like he belongs on a mountain trail, smiles at me, and I, without warning, feel compelled to explain that I'm not the kind of girl who normally watches morning shows and that I don't decorate for Halloween, vintage style or otherwise.

I clench my teeth to keep the words in. He doesn't need to know all that. I smile as I reach out to shake his hand, trying to look like I belong on a mountain trail, and then I walk out the door, away from the morning show and its promise of cookies.