I’m quite brilliant. I’ve devised this whole system of where I buy things on eBay. Then once I’ve amassed something substantial I feel the need to purge my belongings and I sell it at a fraction of the price or donate it to a historical society. Obviously this is an outstanding use of my precious free time and an excellent way to invest one’s discretionary income.

The Historical Societies of Brookline, Boston, and Charlestown have all received donations from me this year. I guess donating the items removes any guilt I might have about throwing them away. I’m giving them to someone who will genuinely appreciate them and it removes any wiffle-waffling I might have about it.

But not all of the items are things I’ve bought. When I moved into my new apartment I did the customary exploration of every nook and cranny of the space. And in a recess on top of my kitchen cabinet I found a vintage ad for Chesty Morgan. Holy chesticles. Not particularly appealing to me. Yet still it is something to behold. It’s vintage. It’s local. It’s iconic.

I consider framing it and keeping it in my office. But then I think of my nephews coming over and gawking at it or asking me about it. At which point I’d brush some Lady Finger crumbs off the shoulders of my red satin robe, blow into my pipe causing some tiny bubbles to come out and say, “There’s a lot to be learned from old Uncle Andy…. please, sit down….”

I just can’t throw this thing away though. It wouldn’t be right. I do some research and find what I think would be the perfect place to donate it to. Exotic World in Helendate, CA. A museum honoring all things burlesque. They’ll love this thing. A fine piece to add to their collection.

I slip Chesty… hey, she should’ve done some Vicks VapoRub commercials in her time. I slip Chesty in an envelope and address it to Exotic World. I don’t have any stamps so I plan to take it to the post office the next day.

And therein lies the problem. I’m in line at the post office with envelope in hand but I’m scared to go up to the counter and have Mr. Crankypants look at the envelope, then look up at me, smirk, and raise an eyebrow. And then he’ll notice that I haven’t put a return address on it and tell me I have to or it can’t get mailed. Then I’ll put a fake address (so Exotic World doesn’t try to thank me) but being a postal worker in Boston for the past 40 years he’ll know it’s fake and call me on it and then in a “Doris, price check on the anal beads!” moment he’ll say “You can’t send something to EXOTIC WORLD unless you put a valid return address on the envelope!”

“Next customer please.” I go outside to get some fresh air and de-panic. I decide to take a walk. I pass several trash bins but resist the urge. I take stock of where I am and I have an idea. I walk a few blocks over to Centerfolds. I don’t know if they’re open or not but the door is closed and there’s no bouncer. I slip the envelope under the door….. and I run like the wind.

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