There is a saying about not marrying your stocks. There is another one about pigs getting rich and hogs getting slaughtered. Regarding actual, real live men, Nina, is... well, the opposite of fun. When it comes to stocks, however, Nina throws her panties on the lampshade and spins the discoball.
Reader, I married X.*
I can't sell. I can't quite say I am sorry, either. Here's the chart:
I bought 120 shares at about $8 apiece back in 2002. I sold it off in dribs and drabs until I had my original investment back. I now have 52 shares left and am playing with the house's money, so to speak.
I have had my finger on the trigger to sell my X - many, many times. But I just can't. I love my X. My X does not know I exist and if confronted would scoff at me and my 52 shares. Nina's love for X? Love. Love love love love love. Love more than rainbows and unicorns. Love more daisy fields and magic lamps. Love more than chicken.
That 52 shares is my grandmother's money, the $1600 that is my mother's legacy, converted to $5600 by sheer force of will (read:recklessness and vanity) and a fondness for the letter X.
Who sells grandmothers? Who sells mom, apple pie, America, for Chrissakes? Who sells X?
* If you know that allusion, comment. If not, comment anyway.