Normally people would characterize me as fairly laid-back, non-combatative, extremely patient . . . that is until someone messes with my favorite pen! I am quite willing to share my worldly possessions with others, but I must have some kind of possessive fetish when it comes to maintaining control of my precious pen. My wife and kids can testify that my concept of stewardship and sharing does not extend to my thick-barreled, easy-to-grip, smooth-flowing tool of the erudite. I can hardly bear going off to the office without my trusty implement. I will search high and low (and maybe even utter a quick prayer) to recover my lost prized possession. No one would dare to try to hide it from me as a practical joke. Messing with my pen is no joking matter.
When I get home from work every night I place it on top of the desk in the living room with my keys and wallet. That is where I always expect to find it. If someone has inadvertently grabbed it to jot some note from a phone conversation, I give them a hard time and review with them the “rules of the house” relating to the exclusivity of my pen. I am willing to go to any length to provide others in my family with pens for their own use … but somehow they don’t feel that gives me the right to bar them from touching my pen. I don’t see much hope for my affliction.
Maybe we should start some type of support group for people who value their pens. I could probably recruit my brother-in-law who collects very nice antique fountain pens. I hope my pen appreciates the devotion I have lavished upon it. (If this topic doesn’t grip you, then you probably are not a candidate for my support group.)