Her: Oh honey, Hoarders.
Me: Sure why not, I need to clean out the pantry anyway.
So as I watch and engage with the show (“Why won’t they leave that woman be? We've all had a couple rat carcasses lying around under a ton and ½ of used everything from time to time. Judge-y judge-y.”) I have a moment of clarity. I realize who I really feel for in these situations. Dragons.
Put yourself in a dragon’s shoes for a moment. Colorful scales, giant wings, razor sharp claws, atrocious breath. That’s you (and yo’ mama, zing! I apologize.).
There you are lying in an indentation you’ve managed dig out of your impossibly huge mound –-or hoard—of treasure when some dumb, insensitive, knight comes along and starts threatening to paw through your stuff. You have an anxiety attack, as any hoarder would, and you lash out. Oh and by the way, why does a dragon even need treasure? They don’t. Classic hoarder behavior.
So now, you’ve lashed out over nothing, burned a knight to a crisp, eviscerated him with your claws, etc. The whole village is pissed, they ban together or hire a champion, and bam, your whole species is extinct.
Maybe if someone had just tried finding you a licensed therapist who specialized in hoarding/ocd disorders, an organization expert, and the phone number for 1-800-GOT-JUNK, your species would be alive today. Vital members of society, holding jobs (Smaug's Home and Auto Insurance) and raising families.
Hoarding killed the dragons. I’m almost positive. Look for my scholarly paper in the next issue of The Journal of Paleontology.
Obviously watching too much tv,
Homemaker Man
P.S. My bloggy friend Suburban Correspondent wrote a very beautiful and very sad piece about MamaPundit and her oldest son. I'd never read her before today but she could use all the thoughts or prayers she can get right now as she navigates the unthinkable. It's a very difficult story to read, so for those of you who aren't in a place for something like that today, I don't blame you. Just needed to put it out there.
HM
