The Pigalinas are mild hoarders. On Saturday I spent the day organizing the “memory boxes” – sifting through old letters, cards, pamphlets from museums, concert tickets etc.
I now have them nearly organized in boxes by type.
The correspondence of courting Pigalinas is in a box, heavily taped closed, with instructions for it to be burned whole upon our deaths. Nobody must read the ramblings of a teenaged Pigalina with possible mental issues. Nobody.
Mr Pigalina may be the slightly bigger hoarder, opting to keep the over-sized novelty leaving card from a job he left ten years ago. “Don’t know who that is, or that. I better keep it.”