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<p>[QUOTE=&quot;Maxfli, post: 3108448, member: 69089&quot;]LOL at collector plates! This reminds me of a funny story. Part of the fun is in the setting up of the situation, so bear with my long-windedness:</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m in advertising. A number of years ago we landed a new client who had a fairly major (at the time) female country music star under contract to be their spokesperson.</p><p><br /></p><p>In the interest of privacy I won’t name names, but you’d definitely recognize hers, and if you’re in your mid-30s or older, you’ve likely seen her on TV. I’ll call her Ms. L.</p><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, in preparation for filming our first commercials for this new client, my art director partner and I flew into Nashville to record Ms. L’s voiceovers. When the session was done, Ms. L asked if we planned to stay the night. We said yes and mentioned the name of our hotel, to which she replied, “Nonsense. You’re our guest here, so you’re staying at my house!”</p><p><br /></p><p>This was just the second time anyone from our ad agency had met Ms. L, so not wanting to offend, we agreed and cancelled our reservations. Ms. L’s assistant then drove us to her home, a sprawling estate-sized affair in a Nashville suburb that’s popular with the country stars. </p><p><br /></p><p>As one would expect, the home was nicely appointed and obviously professionally decorated. Shortly after arrival, we were led into a spacious, high-ceilinged modern kitchen that could’ve been ripped from the pages of Architectural Digest. </p><p><br /></p><p>What caught my attention, however, was something that was completely out of character with the rest of the house: one long wall of the kitchen was almost entirely filled with collector plates! I didn’t count them, but there had to be at least 50. </p><p><br /></p><p>It was the usual dreck one would associate with collector plates, commemorating cities, states, national parks and other landmarks, dead presidents, holidays, and various snippets of Americana.</p><p><br /></p><p>Worried that I might say the wrong thing, I chose to not steer the discussion in that direction. But the next morning after breakfast, Ms. L caught me staring again at the plates, and so proceeded to explain the origin of her collection.</p><p><br /></p><p>It seems that a dear friend gave her a plate as a gift and, not wanting to offend the dear friend, Ms. L felt obliged to keep and display it. Well, this opened the floodgates: more friends saw the plate, assumed Ms. L was an enthusiast, and began gifting her with more collector plates. The process fed on itself, until the entire wall was covered.</p><p><br /></p><p>As I spent more time with Ms. L, I came to realize that she wasn’t at all the diva one might expect of someone in her position. On the contrary, she was a sweet lady whose hospitality was genuine, as was her deep commitment to her friends — no matter how much she might have disliked those plates, there was no way she was going to dishonor her friends by not displaying them.[/QUOTE]</p><p><br /></p>

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