It was a sunny Saturday morning, and I was just starting to enjoy a peaceful cup of coffee in the kitchen when I heard a strange sound coming from outside. It wasn’t the usual neighborhood chatter or the rustling of trees in the wind; this was something else. Curiosity piqued, I walked to the window, only to freeze in place as my eyes landed on my husband’s car.
It was completely covered in glitter.
A thick, sparkly coat of glitter had been spread over every inch of his car—windows, windshield, tires, even the roof. It shimmered under the sun, creating a bizarre and almost magical effect. My immediate thought was that one of our neighbors was playing a prank. There had been some playful rivalries between neighbors recently, so it seemed like the kind of thing someone would do as a joke.
I opened the door and walked outside, my feet crunching on the driveway. As I approached the car, I could feel my frustration mounting. I wasn’t angry at the car—though it was going to be a nightmare to clean—but at the sheer audacity of whoever had done this. I ran through a list of potential suspects in my mind, mentally blaming each of our neighbors who had a history of pulling stunts like this.
I called my husband, Tom, who was at work, to let him know about the glitter surprise. He, too, thought it was a prank. We laughed it off initially, though I couldn’t shake off the weird feeling in my gut. Who would have the time and energy to cover a car in glitter like that? And why glitter? Why not shaving cream or toilet paper? Glitter felt oddly personal.
Tom told me to check for any messages or notes that might have been left behind—anything that could give us a clue as to who had done this. I scoured the car, peering under the glittery mess, but there was nothing. No note, no explanation, just the overwhelming sparkle that seemed to mock me.
As I stood there, a few of our neighbors came by, some laughing, others visibly uncomfortable. One neighbor, Karen, who lived next door, came over and asked if everything was okay. I raised an eyebrow, my suspicions growing.
“Did you see anything?” I asked her.
She hesitated for a moment, then looked down at the ground. “Actually, I did,” she admitted. “I saw someone this morning. I thought it was odd, but… I didn’t want to say anything.”
“Who was it?” I asked, heart racing.
Karen hesitated but then pointed across the street. I followed her gaze and saw someone walking out of their house—Tom’s ex-wife, Vanessa.
I felt a chill run through my body. Vanessa had always been a bit of a mystery to me. She and Tom had divorced years before we met, and while they were amicable, there was always an underlying tension when she visited. I never thought she would go so far as to pull something like this, though.
Before I could react, Vanessa approached me, a sheepish expression on her face. “I… I thought it would be funny,” she said. “I didn’t think it would upset you. It was just a little joke.”
My mind was spinning. The idea that Vanessa, of all people, had done this—an elaborate prank—was beyond shocking. It wasn’t just the glitter. It was the lengths she had gone to, the timing of it all, and the fact that she had involved the entire neighborhood.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “This isn’t funny, Vanessa,” I said, my voice steady despite my inner turmoil. “And it’s definitely not the kind of joke you pull on someone’s spouse.”
As Vanessa tried to apologize, I realized something more profound: this wasn’t just a prank—it was a calculated move to stir up old feelings, to remind me of a history I had no interest in revisiting. While I couldn’t control what happened, I could decide how I responded. And I wasn’t going to let anyone, not even an ex, ruin my peace.
Tom and I worked together to clean up the car later that day. Despite the shock, I knew that we were stronger than any glitter-covered stunt. And as for Vanessa? Well, I knew this would be the last time I’d let her get under my skin.
