The final straw came a few days before Christmas. I’d ordered a limited-edition ornament for my mom, something special for her collection. When the tracking app said it had been delivered, I rushed home, only to find an empty porch. Furious, I knocked on Linda’s door. Sure enough, she greeted me with the opened box, the ornament unwrapped in her hand. “I didn’t realize this wasn’t for me!” she giggled.
That smug little laugh broke me. If Linda loved my packages so much, I’d give her one she’d never forget.
Enter: the glitter bomb.
I ordered a spring-loaded glitter bomb kit that arrived without incident (miraculously). Late one night, after Mike was asleep, I assembled the trap, adding a handwritten note inside: “If you’re reading this, you’re a thief. Next time, I’ll call the police. Happy holidays!”
I wrapped the package in festive paper, wrote my name and address clearly on the front, and left it on my porch in plain view.
Linda didn’t disappoint. The next morning, I heard her scream.
Peeking through my curtains, I saw her standing on her porch, covered head to toe in glitter. Her hair sparkled like a disco ball, and her clothes were ruined. She shook the box furiously, but the glitter clung to her like a second skin.
Moments later, she stormed over to my house, pounding on the door. “HOW DARE YOU!” she yelled, holding the glitter-covered box like evidence in a crime scene.
I opened the door with a smile. “Oh, Linda! Did you accidentally take my package again?”
“You think this is funny?!” she spat, glitter flying off her hair.
“Funny? No. Satisfying? Absolutely,” I said, arms crossed. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before stealing my things.”
She stammered, trying to defend herself, but I didn’t let her. “Linda, this is your warning. If you take another package from me, I’ll report you to the police. Consider yourself lucky this time.”
She stormed off, muttering about how petty I was. But the glitter told a different story—it would be in her hair, her clothes, and her house for weeks, a constant reminder of her thievery.
Word spread quickly. Neighbors started sharing their own stories of “missing packages” that magically reappeared after confronting Linda. Emboldened by my glittery revenge, others began calling her out.
For the rest of the holiday season, Linda stayed indoors, keeping a much lower profile. And my packages? They stopped disappearing entirely.
Sometimes, justice comes in unexpected forms. For me, it was bright, shiny, and sprinkled with holiday cheer.