Stuffing Our House with Stuffed Toys

Why are we inclined to accumulate things? Do we gain satisfaction and pleasure simply from the things we amass? Is it the nostalgia bug that compels people to collect? Is it the intrinsic value of the thing or its specific provenance that compels interest and pushiness?

I remember one day last December 2007 when my wife asked me to buy a large bear stuffed toy which was on 50% sale at a Watson Store. Discounted but still pricey for me, so I declined. The next day it ran out of stock. Alas, she shoved me with a two-day snippy stance. That was a few months ago, now I’m stuck griping on stuffed toys stuffed in every available display area in the house. Bad for my rhinitis or real bad for our pockets? But at least I get liberated from her gruff slant.

When she goes to work, she leaves her guise haunting me in her collection. I stuff my head with questions like: What does she get with these stuff? What’s in her mind? And she even hides some from me.

I picked up one stuffed animal on display; I chose it because it stands out in color and peculiarity. It’s lovely though. I held it and tried to put it in my arms like she often does. It kind of melts, the silky fur is squishy. Its softness makes it perfect for cuddling. I tried another stuffed animal. Oh, what a color – black. Off-beam proportion, huh, so I tried reorienting it, starting with the hand. Wow! This is a talking monster and it snorts like I do and even its stomach bulges. What a crap, but it’s amusing. I wanted to find out about the rest but I refuse to get into her world … a kind of self-preservation.

Ironically, I have my own stuff too - a collection of 350 CDs and 250 DVDs plus nearly a hundred gigs of MP3s. Does she feel and get fulfilled in the same way? Perhaps I understand. By the way what’s wrong with it? Or what’s wrong with us?

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