The stranger, a large man in a golf shirt, observed how I had tucked a record album under my arm.

Surveying the rows of records through which I had already methodically flipped, a few hundred titles, he asked an understandable question: “Only one?”

“Yeah,” I said with a grin. “I guess I’m being selective.”

I had been tempted to pick up other albums, and I continued to look. But I knew I ran the risk of collecting too much – an easy temptation for people like me. I am a zealot for thrift stores, where bargains peek at you from every shelf, and I have acquired fantastic jackets and other clothes to prove it.

But to succeed I have become selective. I am in touch with that feeling arising when certain items demand rescue. They call out to you from the past, and sometimes they even toss you a “come hither” look.

Such was the case last weekend. Little did the stranger know that in this visit I had tasted treasure, a victory after ages of periodic searches ending in fruitless failure – until now. Safely in my hands I held “Whipped Cream & Other Delights” by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

The quest had taken me into many a dusty corner and past many a righteously discarded album by someone named Kenny (such as Kenny Rogers or Kenny Loggins or Kenny G). I felt like one of the maniacal characters searching for the mythical and elusive Maltese Falcon seven months ago at a thrift store in Wheeler, where I’d found the “Whipped Cream” album cover only to discover the wrong record inside. But that experience only whetted my appetite for the hunt.

Despite my long search, I do not believe this is a particularly rare album. I admit I know precious little about this kind of music, and I own nothing else like it. But apparently the producers at A & M Records recognized diversity among the fans of the band shortly after a debut concert in San Francisco more than 30 years ago.

On the album jacket, they note that “… it’s easier to skin an amoeba than to catalog the ‘typical Tijuana Brass Fan.’ The teens were there, but so were the ‘hippies’ and the ‘squares,’ the ‘little old ladies’ and the screen starlets, the celebrities and the people who make them celebrities.”

But why is this album so special to me?

Nostalgia is certainly a large part of it. My parents owned – probably still own – this album, and I remember dancing to its lively, happy sounds as a little kid. But the reasons go deeper.

Take the cover. Against a solid green backdrop we behold a beautiful young woman with dark brown hair. She is sitting cross legged and wearing nothing but an immense and strategically placed pile of whipped cream. She holds a rose in one hand and licks a glob of cream from the other, staring seductively at the viewer.

For all this, the image is … tasteful. Yet I’ve talked with friends who know this album cover and they agree that even years before puberty we recognized something about this image was downright, well, yummy.

Though I own many compact discs, I realize that I may be among the last of a generation of people who used to buy new music on vinyl instead of CD format, and like others in this age group I miss records. Sure, I miss the relatively large cover art – not just because of this doll as dollop – but I also enjoy the warm, analog sound. That’s why I still own a turntable.

In this case, the music moves from a soulful siesta sound to the brighter shine of brass. It is the kind of sound featured at the beginning of game shows in its time, as well as zany comedy films such as “Casino Royale.”

Listening to these tones, my brother and I set up miniature obstacle courses for the tires of toy cars. We rolled the tires across ramps of scrap wood and sent them zooming and wobbling along furniture. In our minds, the little tires took on personalities and storylines as they escaped junk yards and went on to prepare for death-defying daredevil stunts. This was, after all, a time of Road Runner cartoons and Evel Knievel, and the lively “soundtrack” produced by Herb Alpert kept our imaginations rolling.

When I brought the album home the other day and played it, my happy memories rolled, too. My wife and I danced around the living room.

In no time, I know a new hunt at the thrift stores will ensue. Some other album or article of clothing will call to me from the shelves, or from the recesses of memory.

But being selective, even my meager pocketbook can afford it. “Whipped Cream & Other Delights” cost only $1.99, but no price can be tagged to the delight of finding it and bringing it home.

Brad Bolchunos looks forward to more thrift store adventures, and particularly the chance that he will some day find a way to add to his collection of amoeba skins.