Twinkle, Twinkle...

Most people never thought the tiny little girl in elementary school could have been the instigatior of so many classroom hijinks. She was so sweet and polite. An outstanding student.

The fools.

Behind that cherubic sweetness lurked the mind of a Machiavelli. The soul of a rebel who might one day instigate a revolution that could topple a nation. If she wanted to.

Alright. All that is a bit of hyperbole.

I think.

This angelic girl grew up. One day, I married her. Over time, I began to grasp the truth and appreciate it. (I never claimed to be a model, milk toast follower of Abrahamic mediocrity)

She was talking to our nephew, D1 (all three nephews are D, hence the numeric designation...oi. I think everyone has such a set of parents in their family...George Foreman simply represents its most extreme form...oops, I digress), and related the tale of Moo-Moo and the glitter. Our oldest daughter had talked us into letting her have a puppy after we moved to Tomball, Texas. It was the only way she could be happy (rolling my eyes). As puppy's will, this one ate whatever she could get ahold of. In this case...our daughters' craft box. Some Elmer's glue and various tubes of colored glitter. For days, she would leave brightly colored piles of poop around the neighborhood that sparkled oh-so-prettily in the sunlight.

(Do you suppose she related this story only for the purpose of entertaining D1? Do you really?)

Inspired by this tale, our nephew, and his fellow soldiers, conceived a plan to cheer the spirits of their hungover platoon sergeant. Someone found a tube of multicolored little girl's glitter. They spiked his soda with glitter (being fascinated, as all soldiers are, with anything excretory and hoping to see sparkling shit up close and personal) and poured a quantity inside his beret. He donned his beret, not noticing anything unusual in his impaired condition, and the platoon turned out for the company formation. It was a sunny day, and as they all stood there, the sergeant began to sweat (assisted, no doubt, by the previous night's alcoholic overload). To fully appreciate the events to come, you need to understand their platoon sergeant is in an advanced state of male pattern baldness. What sparse locks remain to him are cropped very close. The glitter began to find his pate a more attractive surface than the beret. At some point, after the formation, berets were removed. The sergeant was puzzled, at first, why so many people were laughing and making odd comments. The first sergeant called him "Sparky"? The name "Twinkle" was heard. Eventually, the truth became known. Gnosis was achieved...

And the story of Sergeant Sparkles was born.