GLITTER: A SHORT & SHINY PLAY FOR TWO THAT IS MOSTLY TRUE.
by Mary Fons (c) 2016
MARY 1 and MARY 2 are drinking coffees at a cafe. MARY 2 pulls her phone out of her purse and a burst of extremely shiny glitter poofs out from her bag.
MARY 1: What is that.
MARY 2: What.
MARY 1: That glitter.
MARY 2: Oh, yeah. That’s this glitter.
MARY 1: Why is it coming out of your purse?
MARY 2: I was making valentines and my friend asked me if I wanted to take home the glitter we didn’t use.
MARY 1: And you said yes?
MARY 2: (Guiltily.) Yes.
MARY 1: Why?
MARY 2: …It was pretty.
MARY 1: That’s where it starts. One moment you’re a grown woman making homemade valentines with craft paints, and the next thing you know you’ve got glitter stuck to the bottom of your foot, glitter dangerously close to your eye, glitter in your cell phone. Glitter is not your friend. I don’t care how sparkly it may be. Bits of glitter? Every tiny piece? Each tiny piece of glitter is a spore on the wind, attaching itself to anything it can in order to extend its lifespan. Never say yes to extra glitter. Never say yes to glitter at all!
MARY 2: It’s really wonderful glitter, though. Did you see how fine it is?
(She shows MARY 1. They touch the counter and then look closely at their fingertips, admiring the glitter.)
MARY 1: Woah. It’s like shimmering baby powder. It’s like…sparkly silt.
MARY 2: This kind is called “glitter dust.” It’s finer than the regular kind.
MARY 1: Why does it make me feel so good? Am I wishing for a simpler time? Am I so easily distracted? As a female who loves shiny pink glitter, am I reinforcing negative gender stereotypes? Is it weird that I love how glitter comes in a test tube-like container? What is that about?
MARY 2: That’s just glitter, man. That’s glitter.
MARY 1: No! Resist. (She steps back from the table.) Get it away from me. Glitter is worse than Christmas tree pine needles. Such things are vacuum resistant, carpet sweeper resistant. It’s already everywhere!
(As MARY 1 says this, a person carrying a large, open canister full of honey passes by and MARY 1’s wild hand movements cause her to whap the person, who promptly spills all the honey over MARY 1.)
MARY 2: (After awhile.) It’s really pretty, caught there in the honey. It’s like in Jurassic Par—
MARY 1: Please get me a damp towel.
MARY 2: I’ll be right back.