Never Trust Male Friends

My friend...um, we'll call him Joe, wants me to meet his brother. His brother has been single for a long, long time and is unhappy. His biological clock is ticking, he wants to meet a woman and get married. Anyone else getting that panicked feeling that says run the other way? Because my girly womb is quite alright with being dusty.
Now, my friend Joe can't believe that a woman is happy being single, and is always trying to prove to me that there's some part of me that's unhappy. (Joe doesn't quite realize I'm not "settling" for anything just to be with someone, which is what he's willing to do.) But fine, I'll meet his brother. It might be worth a couple dates, some interesting conversation.
It's an hour long drive. Halfway there, Joe - who has been singing his brother's praises for half an hour, including his six figure income, mentions "There's this one little thing."
"What thing?" I ask warily.
"He likes to collect Matchbox cars."
"Ok," I mutter slowly, as the first thought of he's an overgrown kid rolls across my mind.
"In lots of three. So it's a pretty large collection."
Why does size matter with tinkertoys?
"Why does he collect in lots of three?"
"Well, there's one car he buys for himself. And there's one car he buys for our only nephew in the family. And then he buys one for his unborn son."
"What unborn son? Didn't you tell me he's single? Has been for years?"
"Yeah. But he wants a kid really bad, he has a gut feeling it'll be a son, so he's collecting for him too."
Feeling like a brood mare, I start to shake as we pull up to the house. Looks great from the outside. We ring the doorbell and it takes a long while for Brother Dearest to come greet us.
He looks like a nice guy. Normal even. But his entire, HUGE house is covered in toy cars. There's a tiny trail of carpet you can walk through the house on, like the yellow brick road.
I'm stunned speechless. Each car is precisely placed and positioned at interesting angles everywhere, hundreds of thousands. A picture hanging on the wall has cars displayed on top of the frame. A light picture hanging from the ceiling has cars on it. There's tons of display cases featuring the toys. Both men are pointing out each car's "special" feature to me, eyes lit up and drool hanging from their chins.
I'm a girl. I can point out individual shades of eyeshadow with varying shades and nuances. Show me a toy car and my eyes glaze over.
Three hours later we get to Brother's bedroom. Very cool decor, Japanese-style. But on the floor-bed is a tiny area where Brother sleeps stiffly in the middle so as to NOT DISTURB THE CARS POSED ALL AROUND THE MATTRESS.
My tiny touch of OCD is kicking in now. I'm pulling the collar from my throat, gasping for air. Trying to get away, but tiny cars are stuck under my feet. I make it back out to the truck before I succumb to the urge to throw up, and Joe follows me stiffly. We jump into the car and head home.
I'm leaning back, eyes closed. Joe asks proudly, "Well, what'd ya think? Is his collection cool or what? I can't believe that guy's still single."
I open one eye and look at him, just to make sure.
Yep.
Joe's serious.