I'm in the middle of a fairly large collection development project here at work and I spend most of my day in the stacks, shifting, pulling, and shelving material. Yesterday, as I worked on a shelf of fiction, pulling the books out and preparing to relocate them, I found an empty bag of Cheetos. Now, of course, I can't look at a bag of Cheetos without hearing the Cheetos Story in my head. And while I tell a decent second-hand version of the story, only Missy does it best. And no, I'm not telling the Cheetos story now because it's really something best told in the company of others.
However, I may one day share the story of the Rakist or I might tell the story of how my father came to love squirrels, but first he had to hate them.