Kitsch

Over the years, my girlfriend has accumulated a variety of unwanted gifts. They can’t be gotten rid of, but they can’t be kept, either. The cut-glass figurine of a cat (“she has a cat, she must like cat statuettes!”). Inspirational books like “I can’t accept not trying” by Michael Jordan, and a book for college graduates with a picture of the last pope on it, apparently because every college graduate needs sentimental pope-paraphernalia. They live in the box of guilt under the bed, where they will not be spotted by friends, but where they can be found in case of an emergency visit by the relative of origin. This weekend we plan to bite the bullet and ebay the more saleable items.