Poor Old Oscar

A few months ago I went crazy in a junk store and bought a bunch of stuff that I had no immediate plans for.  Among those items was somebody's entire stamp collection, which filled a large box until I took the stamps out of the hundreds of tiny envelopes and dumped them in three jars.  Still, that's a LOT of old stamps.

What I know about stamp collecting can be written on the head of a pin.  I guess some stamps are hard to find and therefore worth big bucks (at least to other stamp collectors)?  It's unlikely that a rare stamp is somewhere in these jars, but there is still a tiny chance that there is something valuable. I now have a fantasy:

I am holding court at a party in a trendy gallery.  My stunning dress shimmers as I converse wittily with my many admirers.  (In my fantasy this is totally plausible.  Also, I'm a size 5.)  On the wall behind me is a series of my brilliant collages that incorporate the aforementioned stamps.

One of the guests idly peruses the art.  He is a short man in an ill-fitting tweed suit and a bad toupee.  His wife dragged him to this party against his will, and he's hoping he can leave before someone tries to engage him in conversation.  Let's call him Oscar.

Oscar glances at one of my pieces and is about to move on when he does a double-take.  Surely it couldn't....no...wait....it IS!

"Noooo!" he wails.  "It's the rare ten-cent three-headed red eagle stamp!  Generations of stamp collectors in my family have searched for it in vain!  It's worth three hundred dollars!  And she's glued it to a canvas!  There's PAINT on it!"  He breaks down into sobs.  "How could you do that?  Did you know? Did you?"

All eyes are now on me.  "Of course I knew.  What you don't realize, my dear man, is that art is more precious than mere money," I say.

Spontaneous applause erupts.  Oscar is led away by kind people as I calmly sip a cocktail made of his tasty, tasty tears.

When no one is looking, I whip out a pen and write a new, hugely increased number on the price tag.