Stephanie walked into the office while I was sliding one of my new CGC-graded Conan comics into a resealable bag. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Umm, putting these comics in bags," I said, stating the obvious.
"I can see that," she said, perplexed. "But why?"
"So the case doesn't get scratched," I said. The puzzled look on her face told me she was working another question in her head, one that would indicate that she clearly doesn't understand the things I do. So I held up a slabbed book in my left hand and grabbed another with my right. I mimicked putting the two together, trying to demonstrate that if they weren't bagged, the case would get scuffed up or worse.
"It's the comic that matters, right?" she asked. "And the shell thing protects that already. Why protect the thing that's protecting the comic?"
"That's true, but..." I started, thinking to myself, where does it end? Would I get a bag to protect the bag? Of course not, but I knew Stephanie wouldn't understand, so I changed tactics. "Look how great the book looks in the bag. Not sure what it is, but it really pops now."
She just laughed on the way out of the room. "You're crazy, dear. And I love you for it."