I bought a pen a month ago. It was a cheap pen, thin, long and grey, just like some old women, but only better looking, and much younger. It seems I have been losing my best pens lately, but as to why or to whom remains a mystery.
I became disillusioned with pens and feared losing another. These regrettable events caused me to frequent shady stationary outlets to pick up these cheap pens. Long and grey was no exception. Costing only $3.00, I didn’t expect the pen to write well because all my life I was taught if it looks cheap, and it is cheap, then it will behave cheap. Miss Three Dollars made a mockery of this theory; she wrote like a Pilot on steroids, she danced on the paper like a ballerina. Her grip was reassuring and her movement flawless. There were never any signs of a struggle between ink and ball, and with my guiding hand, her lines were always perfectly placed. It was like the stuff dreams are made off, except it was no dream. I hid her away, not because she was cheap, but from fear of losing yet another pen, and a good one at that.
Despite all the rumblings and uncertainty of the World around us, I had a smile on my face. You see, the simple purchase of a cheap pen from a less than reputable outlet had renewed my faith in bargains, and to some extent, pens.
This blog was a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Bolger’s barren, and sometimes foolish, imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead or the living-dead was entirely avoidable