ABSTRACT
“Isn't this Staffordshire dog elegant?” My sister is holding up one of the family “heirlooms”—a chipped piece of china acquired by our mother at an auction. Without waiting for my response, Elizabeth puts the cracked spaniel back in the antique hutch and proceeds, docent-like, to extol the finer points of its immediate neighbors. I am prompted to admire, in turn, a Victorian moustache cup, a porcelain platter of uncertain provenance, and a silver tea service monogrammed with someone else's initials. With their wannabe pedigrees, these items exude a decidedly un-Sotheby's aura.
