When I was young, anything labeled a “collectable” automatically seem imbued with value to me. Both fiscal and otherwise. Every time I heard, “That’s going to be worth a lot someday.” I believed it might be true, and should be true.

This “collectable” was in fact worth something however. $3 bucks. That’s what I paid for it anyway at a Garage sale: “How much for the New Hampshire whisky bottle?” “My husband said not to take less than $5, but what do you think?” “$3?” “It’s yours.”

My girlfriend hates it; it reminds her too much of crap that she actually saw in other peoples’ houses – poor, well meaning, but tacky people’s houses - growing up.

For those of you who have never been to New Hampshire, the state bird is the purple finch, and the state flower is the lilac. Unbelievably, when quizzed my girlfriend recalled this minutia without pause. Also, you might not be able to tell, but the bottle is capped by the Old Man of the Mountain, which is a rock formation that used to look like an old man’s face. It was discovered in 1805, New Hampshire released its state quarter with the formation on its back in 2000, and woop! the damn thing just collapsed in 2003. I swear to god they speak in hushed tones about that incident in New Hampshire – like someone died. Sad. I guess now all New Hampshirites have to live for is being almost as good as Vermont, and riding around on motorcycles without helmets.