I have a thing for coats. (I own 90% of the coats in our household, it’s true.) I have the most gorgeous orange Cole Haan raincoat you have ever seen, the softest Eileen Fisher black wool wrap, and the most practical LL Bean camel coat, ever.  And four field coats, because who doesn’t need four field coats?

Yeah, well. Don’t answer that.

I also have a thing for dust jackets.  You know, those things on books that protect the books?

The problem is that neither my husband nor my daughter tolerate them. I’ve argued with M about it for twenty years: he takes the dust jacket off when he reads the book because he doesn’t want to trash the jacket — who does this?!  (“But the book,” I say! “It’s for the book!”)

And then Pea came along, and from about two (or whenever it was she started receiving books with dust jackets), off they came, too.

Why? What is this compunction to strip books naked of their sole protection from the elements?

I am at a total loss about what to do with the things once they take them off.  It’s not such a big deal anymore with M (who reads almost exclusively on his Kindle now; what I used to do was leave the jacket on the shelf where the book fit, as a placeholder), but for Pea, I’ve been stashing them on the bookcase next to the books, for…I don’t know what. Selling back to Powell’s someday? Maybe an art project? I really don’t know. And there are a lot of them now; it’s looking messy.

Tonight Pea pulled out a book for M to read to her, and it had a jacket on — for all of five seconds. M took it off.

So, yeah…maybe an art project.