It doesn’t matter whether it’s stamps, street rods, guns, fishing rods, guitars, tools, widgets or whatever. If a man collects something he loves and appreciates, it’s likely that, at several points in his collector journey, he’ll be challenged by his loving and concerned spouse. In my experience, the challenge is aimed precisely at his sanity or, at the very least, his common sense. The desire to own more than one of something is viewed with skepticism by many among us without a Y chromosome … unless said something is throw pillows or footwear.
In her reasoning, one widget should be sufficient and two or more is not only unnecessary, but a flagrant waste of resources. That money could be better used to purchase something far more useful — say, a pair of glittery, strappy stilettos for that wedding coming up in the spring if the couple doesn’t break up before then. Even if they do, let’s be honest, a girl can’t have too many options when it comes to shoes. Everyone knows that.
Shoes aren’t like tools; all a guy really needs is a couple of screwdrivers, a wrench, a hammer, some Gorilla Tape and a cellphone. That last tool is essential for calling an unmarried brother-in-law when you have to borrow a tool.
I’ve done my share of collecting in the past. Hot sauces, lion figures, tools, oil lamps, vintage beam scales, Band-Aids and surgical scars to name a few. I’ve heard all the comments about how many of this or that I have and why on Earth do I need more. My response is always the same: It’s not a matter of need; I want another one just because. Because I don’t have this particular type, size or variation. Because I don’t spend any money on boats, booze or bimbos, and because I can’t take my money with me, and what good is money not spent? (Yes, senator, there is such a thing.)
In my case, I’ll have multiples of something if one is hard to find or I’ve just discovered something I particularly like and want to stock up. That’s especially true with food items. The most recent example is popcorn. I had not had any popcorn for nearly 10 years when, early this summer, I developed a craving for that salt-and-butter flavor delivered by those popped butterfly corn kernels.
I had an old package of microwave popcorn that had come with us from San Diego when I moved back home in 2008. It was included in a box of pantry items that had been unpacked and then shoved into another box with other stuff that shouldn’t have made the trip. In it were boxes of Jello, some Splenda, several bottles of barbecue sauce purchased in a Texas H-E-B in 2002, and a little box of birthday candles containing exactly three small candles, one of which had seen a fiery celebration at least once before.
The old bag of Orville’s famous product performed beautifully, yielding a large mixing bowl of hot, flavored-as-advertised popcorn. Within a week, that flavorful package had inspired the acquisition of a 24-bag box of microwave popcorn, several 30-ounce jars of kernels, a hot air popper from eBay, 2 quarts of salt-and-butter-flavored popcorn seasoning, and a large, plastic bowl dedicated to one use: catching the hot, popped kernels as they shoot out of the popcorn popper.
The bowl does a fair job of containing most of the puffy little missiles, but some bounce out of the bowl and onto the floor. These entertain the dog, who wants to eat them, and the cat, who thinks she’s killing moths. The five-second rule is not employed here. Dog slobber-flavored popcorn tastes just like you might imagine. Ask me how I know.
There are other items I have in multiples. I own a good number of belts, for which I have twice as many buckles. My hats and caps take up a lot of closet space. There are boxes and bags of jeans in every waist size from 38 down to 32, and the 32’s are getting a bit loose now, soon to be put away in a box with the other boxes of jeans that don’t fit. You never can tell — I might gain back 75 pounds, and if I do, I’ll need those fat jeans for the rebulking.
And oh, the guitars! More than one is, of course, essential. Their different voices assure that each venue, song lyric, mood and genre will get the proper instrument for the job. These organic marvels are like friends to me and I have different relationships, including loving relationships, with each. Truly, placing one on my lap almost makes me feel like I’m cheating on my wife. I say “almost” because I’ve never cheated on her and it has never crossed my mind, so I don’t know exactly how an unauthorized lap dance might feel.
I imagine it to be much less satisfying and a whole lot more expensive than an hour with a good acoustic guitar and, at my age, my time with a guitar would be far more productive.
So, yes, I need another one.
