If I could buy one, I would buy two.  Doesn’t matter what, really.  If I like it, two or even three, might be better.  Just in case I lose it, or use it all up, and can never find it again.

I would of necessity put the original safely in plain view,
Just so in my old age, I don’t forget that I have a new object to play with; or eat.

As for the rest of the backups, well, they can get stuffed where ever I find space: a drawer, a cabinet, the back of the refrigerator. It really doesn’t matter.

Sometimes when rummaging through my house I come across one or more of these back-up necessities of life. I turn them side-to-side, top-to-bottom, and wonder why I ever needed so many yellow ceramic ducks in raincoats … or whatever the item might be.

But inevitably my lips curl into a broad smile as I recall the memory of where I was when I purchased it, and who among my loved ones rolled their eyes and laughed with me that day.

So after a minute of rekindling the relationship I gently stuff my treasure back in the closet, or squish it onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator near the grapes, knowing in the not too distant future I will trip over it again. And it will fill my day with sunshine and laughter.