Friday, February 18, 2011

Penned Thoughts

People like to call me “tall, dark, and handsome.” You know, I’d like to think that they are right. I would agree that I am tall but quite thin. My darkness depends on my ink cartridge. Currently, dark is my thing. As to handsome, it depends upon the hand that holds me. If they’ve got good handwriting, I’m handsome. However, I have had my not-so-handsome moments. For example, a little child wrote with me one time. That was not a splendid experience. We’re talking slimy, pudgy fingers with dirt under the finger nails. To a guy like me, that is just repulsive. I consider myself to be a sensitive type of pen. I prefer writing letters to beautiful women in calligraphic script. Of course, I can settle for something as simple as a shopping list.

Now, I am the type of pen who likes to be held by a strong and sure hand. Although women’s hands are softer and finer, as a pen I’d prefer to be held by the strong callused hand of a man. Oh, I am as straight as they come. The reason I enjoy a man’s hold is he writes to women and I take great pride in writing eloquent things to women. Of course, I do not come up with these lines of romance; but I do make them possible.

To me, the written word is imperative. If I could, I would spend all of my days in writing lovely things. Dancing about the paper with the desire of describing a gorgeous woman or sketching a particularly touching scene just makes me want to cry. However, as a pen, I cannot cry. My great grandparents left ink splotches all across stationary. That kind of tearing up is inappropriate because it tampers with the clear beauty of the script. To leave an ink splotch on a love letter – the very thought mortifies me.

As a pen, I am a very dependable creature. Not only do I have a dependable ink flow, but I must depend upon a hand to use my skills. After being chosen from a package with many others identical to myself, I tried to exert my independence upon the hand that guided my design. Unfortunately, it did nothing. The hand set me down and chose another pen that would more easily surrender to the hand’s will. The loneliness of my independence surprised me. I watched as other pens danced upon the page with fluid letters and shadowed sketches. Slowly, my desire to be a part of the hand’s design overcame my wish for independence. After all, I could not do anything by myself except lounge forgotten near the edge of the desk.

These days, I revel in my dependence upon a hand to guide my skills. I never know what I’ll create. Yet, I trust that it will be more than I imagined. I’m still your one in a million tall, dark, and handsome pen with a style that matches perfectly with any hand. Also, I’m the world’s best at romancing women. If you’ve got a woman that you like, I’m the pen with which to romance her. Just call me “Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”