For thirty years Kitty Melham and her husband Frank had been happily married and for the past ten years they had been living a life of luxury in their palatial home. However, over those ten years there had been one gnawing grievance which seemed to crop up more frequently.
You see, Kitty was a person of exclusive taste whereas Frank was a consumer of kitsch.
Kitty had tried many times to explain to Frank the meaning of good taste which had seemed to her more important given their elevated social and economic status.
That morning at breakfast, Kitty had pleaded with Frank to get rid of his kitsch, in particular, the moth-eaten head of a stuffed moose, mounted on the wall just inside the front door, which Frank liked to use for his hats. “And what about that pair of salt and pepper shakers?” she continued. “Each time the pepper container is wound up, turned over and shaken, it emits a sneezing sound.”
Frank grinned. “Kitty, I think you’re missing the point regarding the salt and pepper shakers. Have you noticed that when company comes for dinner, they use the pepper more often that the salt? They’re healthier for it, too.
“As for the stuffed moose head…that was the first moose successfully hunted by my grandfather, and the mounting was done by a very famous taxidermist.”
Kitty gazed back at Frank. “You just don’t get it!” she said in exasperation. “Good taste means ‘exclusivity’.”
Frank took both her hands in his. “Kitty,” he said gently, “don’t you see? Both the moose head and the salt and pepper shakers have ‘exclusivity’. None of our friends has anything like those and someday, when these items become scarce, they will have value—perhaps great value. Besides, it’s a nostalgic reminder of when we couldn’t afford what you call ‘good taste’. I know how impeccable and expensive your good taste is, Kitty but just think how expensive it would be if the two of us had the same concept of good taste.
“Now, if you’re really set on me getting rid of my kitsch, then we can have a garage sale.”
“A garage sale?” Kitty sputtered. “At our house? Frank, what would the neighbours think?”
Frank laughed. “I’ll tell you what they’d think. They’d think we were having an exclusive party and they weren’t invited. “Well, I’d better leave now Kitty; my plane is waiting. I’ll give you a call tonight.” He bent down and gave her a kiss.
“See you in two days,” he said as he headed to the door.
After Frank left, Kitty sat at the table, still smouldering over the idea of a garage sale.
Just then, the doorbell rang.