Here Hare Here: Searching for a Pith Helmet

So during our morning in San Telmo we spent a few hours antiquing. The best antique market ever. Ever! I’m not so much about the chandeliers and crystal and jewellery and furniture, of which there was plenty, including some egregious examples of old school safaris (e.g., tables with elephant tusks for legs). But everyday items from generations past? That’s heaven. There were military stalls, old radio items, canes with hidden swords, leather WWI pilot gear, giant scales and weight counters, sets of petanque balls (1.5 kgs each, too heavy for luggage), toys, games, even the most fascinating item ever: Wooden gaucho stirrups ($150 each, $300 a pair). Needless to say I was restrained from building my collection!

Old apothecary bottles

Him: I noticed you got another pistol. Do we need another pistol?

Me: They’re part of a set. Without the set they’re less valuable.

Him: I almost shot my foot off the other day while dusting the luger.

Me: Sorry about that. I was making sure it was in working order.

Him: They’re on display.

Me: Yes, but what’s the value if they don’t work?

Him: And taking up half the house I might add.

Me: Think of it as an installation. They were used in 1930 to depose the President. They’re historically significant.

Him: Tell me one person who knows what went down in Argentina in 1930? Who has a shelf full of guns anyway? And the mannequin in the fencing mask and padding scares people half to death.

Me: That’s because you’ve moved him into the feint attack position. When we have company just make sure he’s parrying.

Him: And did we need another straight razor?

Me: Well, first, having just one straight razor is kind of creepy. Six, or seven, now that’s a collection.

Him: Do the straight razors “work”?

Me: Don’t be ridiculous. Some of them don’t even open. The straight razors are a display item. As are the military regalia. Which, I might add, are in a state. You’ve grouped all the epaulettes together as well as the swords and hats. They’re meant to be in groups by regiment, not by type.

Him: Groups of what? We’re knee deep in breeches and brass buttons and decorations. My mother sat on a pin the other day and required three stitches.

Me: That was a cross of Heroic Valour from the Falklands war. She should have been more respectful! At any rate, we have a complete first aid surgical kit in the corner behind the boxes of astrolabes.

Him: That first aid kit is from the revolutionary war!

Me: Surely surgery hasn’t changed that much in 200 years? More importantly, the Patricians are distinct from the Horse Grenadiers, so they need to be together, and the 18^th century dress uniforms are getting mixed up with the scabbards.

Him: I am tired of arranging tiny little medals and tipping over radio microphones and lining up military gear according to advancements. We can’t breathe for the stink of ammonia coming from all the pharmacy bottles. And having to explain to people which stuff is navy and which is army and why is driving me insane.

Me: I saw a nice pith helmet, not in very good shape, but attractive in San Telmo today. We could attach all the metals to the helmet to keep them in one spot.

Him: I am not dusting another freaking pith helmet!

And so on...