Today was a real treat. My client, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, came in and proceeded to tell me about his extensive collection of antique teapots.
I'm not kidding. He had a whole shelf full of them in his living room. I'm talking 37 teapots, folks. 37.
As he spoke, I couldn't help but wonder: what drives someone to amass such a collection? Is it the thrill of the hunt? The joy of the aesthetic?
But no, it's something more. Something deeper. Something... unsettling.
I made a mental note to research post-traumatic teapot disorder.