Where Have All the Sex Toys Gone? Long Time Passing

With the exception of practical items like my glasses, keys, and cell phone, which I regularly leave in my wake, I tend to hang onto things. I like to tell myself that this proclivity is in no way hoardery, but a habit that’s been enabled by a surfeit of closet space and driven by a completely justifiable combination of sentimental and practical concerns.

Over the years, I’ve accumulated a hodgepodge of items. The sentimental include: my father’s Gucci man-bags circa early 1970s, jerseys from my son’s various sports teams, love letters stretching back three decades now, and the stick I peed on when I learned I was pregnant. Even this unwieldy collection has been significantly pared down. I’ve jettisoned dozens of team shirts that don’t have my son’s name on them, and originally that plastic bag memorializing that day I found out I was pregnant contained not one, but three pregnancy tests. That day was also of note because it might have been the only 24-hour period in which I’ve ever consumed the recommended eight glasses of water a day.