The perils of nonpareils

I learned something last week. These things? 

Sure, you might know them as "sprinkles" - innocent little balls of sugar that bring joy to masses of children around the world. Cake decorators call them "nonpareils" kind of in the same way all the cool kids call the zigzag pattern "chevron". Sprinkles, nonpareils, and outside of North America, they are called, "hundreds and thousands". (Thanks Wikipedia.) 

Wikipedia states, "Their origin is uncertain, but they may have evolved out of the pharmaceutical use of sugar, as they were a miniature version of comfits."

I beg to differ. I am fairly certain and would almost bet money on the fact that they may have evolved over time from an ancient device designed to torture prisoners. 

You see, although they are cute, tiny, sweet and crunchy, little tiny balls of joy, they are also hard, impenetrable, unyielding pellets that when dumped upon the floor by your youngest child, will scatter and spread across the floor and fill every crevice, real and imaginary, in your ENTIRE HOUSE. (Here's where the "hundreds and thousands" name loses its irony and becomes very real.)

Sure, you can pull out the central vac because you realize that it would be pointless to try and sweep them up. After all, they are teeny tiny little balls. It wouldn't make sense to try to brush them all in the same direction. C'mon, you are smarter than that.

However, what you might not realize is that vacuum cleaners also blow out air, so when you try to get the nozzle close enough, these tiny balls spread even farther. Sure, you might suck up 80% of them, but the other 20% have instantly taken up residence all over your house, laughing with glee that they've escaped every effort to be cleaned up.

So back to the torture part... you might think I'm referring to the torture of being unable to clean these up. Gasp! The horror of having an unclean house might eat away at some of you.

Not to worry - that ship has long sailed over here in this household. I'm perfectly at peace with the fact that my house won't be clean, EVER AGAIN. I made peace with that fact sometime in 2007 when my first child was born. Since then, another two children have joined forces with her, the dust bunnies, and the weird sticky goo that lives under my stove to form a little, mini, messy army whose sole purpose is to wreak havoc in every room of the house. I waved the white flag at the idea of having a clean house years ago.

The torture part is that I go barefoot, all the time. 24/7. As soon as I walk in the door, I take off my shoes and socks. The 8 random black socks in my entranceway will stand as evidence to this fact. (Make that 7 socks, because we all know that one of them always disappears.) When you are walking barefoot and you step on one of the above mentioned "sprinkles" it always manages to hit the nerve ending that is connected directly to some central pain centre and it feels like you are walking on shards of glass. Shrapnel from the little, mini, messy army perhaps? Who knows?! All I know is that for days now, I'll bounce happily down my carpeted stairs and suddenly stop at the bottom step and beginning scanning the floor in a panic.

It's a tough call - do I get my hopes up that today will be the day that my tender toes don't step on a teeny ball of happiness, or do I simply put on my slippers and let the little buggers win again, but cry inside that I can't go barefoot?

See what I mean?

Sprinkles = Torture.