Some people collect salt and pepper shakers—kind of weird. I mean, how much salt do you need? Some people collect figurines—too much dusting for someone deathly allergic to dust. Some people collect cars. Obviously they have more money than brains. I’ve always prided myself on not collecting anything because after all, collectors clearly do not have a life.
But now I’m wondering…I have a lot of word books. I own three thesauri—Roget’s, Langenscheidt’s, and a really lame one that I gave to the kids. I own two or three books dedicated solely to abstruse words. I’ve purchased about dozen books on writing. Don’t even get me started on dictionaries, although I will say the best modern dictionary is Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary—every other dictionary pales in comparison. But that’s not too bad. Okay, okay, I admit it, I even own a rhyming dictionary. I’m beginning to suspect I might actually have a collection. What does this mean? Do I still have a life? Or will I be one of those ladies who wears knit purple scarves and owns ten skanky cats? Nah. I hate cats.