Dear Extra Button,
We have a strange relationship, you and I. You come into my life every now and again in a little plastic baggy attached to a new jacket, blouse, or cardigan. On the one hand, it’s so comforting to have you around, Button. It’s nice to know that if I were to lose a button while waiting to cross the street, for example, I wouldn’t have to dive in front of an oncoming bus to retrieve it because I have an identical button tucked away at home, ready to take its place. In that sense, you’ve probably saved me from disfigurement or certain death, so thank you. Here’s the thing though … You make me believe I can be a better version of myself, an ideal version of myself who not only has a specific place to store extra buttons, but also remembers where that place is when the need to locate an extra button arises. The real me, though, has never successfully put an extra button to use. Come to think of it, I have no idea where any of the thousands of extra buttons I’ve received over the course of my lifetime currently reside. I don’t use them. I don’t throw them away. I have many vague memories of stashing away packets of extra buttons and feeling very clever about it, but the fact is, Button, after our initial meeting I will never see you again.
So you have to understand, Button, that every time we meet, I’m reminded of my failure. You build up my confidence, fill me with false hope, and then ultimately leave me feeling worse than before. You’re kind of like one of my friends in middle school who used to say things like, “You look really pretty today. It’s a nice change.”
Someday I’ll stumble onto my cache of extra buttons and that will be a glorious day, indeed. But until then, I’ll try my best not to get run over by a bus while pursuing one of your fallen comrades.
P.S. What do you guys do with extra buttons? Do you have a system for storing them?