I’m with you, Elizabeth. Those bare-knuckle swap pirates really brine my pickles. This Christmas, I had a lock on a mason jar filled with virgin rust off a ‘72 Ford tractor that had been setting next to a farmer’s field since Y2K Day. But at the last minute, Ignatius Thistlewhite forced me to swap it for a four pound brown paper bag filled with empty, rolled up Crest toothpaste tubes. Under normal circumstances, I’d have been thrilled to get ‘em. (You can usually get a little more glop out of ‘em.) But I was planning on powdering my pallid cheeks with that rust dust to give them a rouge-ish glow before trolling for Saturday night dates at the senior center.