Freaky, Chic, and Fly

[cathschaffstump]

Sometimes, life just toodles along, and you're not looking for anything new to happen. At those times, you might let your guard down, and before you know it, you're suddenly a toy collector.

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My husband Bryon is an avid toy collector (he hasn't been a rabid toy collector since the Justice League slow down). I appreciate his hobby, although sometimes I have quite enough of the smell of polyvinylchloride, and I feel like I'm living in a children's room.

To be fair, this isn't all his fault. I have a few toys of my own--stuffed animals, some Disney princesses, the occasional toy here and there. But I was a dabbler at best, a poseur at worst. Bryon was the real deal. I gave him the guest room for his hobby years ago. It does spread elsewhere, but that's the lion's share of it.

Somehow I've always felt morally superior. You know, thumbing my nose at Western materialism. Nevermind that I have loads of books, DVDs, and CDs. Oh no, I was more zen than thou.

So, as I said. Not looking to become a rabid toy collector. Until this...

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Mirrored from Writer Tamago.