In my catalog of mystifying junk, this is an entry that defies satisfying explanation.
I was lousy with ball bearing necklaces, so I threw them into this tin, a former home of hot cocoa.
Then I came into some dollar-store jewels. Don’t ask me why, when, how, or, to reiterate, why.
On my scale of worthlessness, fake gems and metal string feel about even. So I put them together, labeled the lot, and stored this on my shelf. This might feel less odd if I had a wall of these red tins, each holding a different pair of useless, unrelated bric-a-brac.
But I would need to drink more hot chocolate.