Alas, just like my dream of my name being called by the lady at the end of Romper Room (she never did! That whore! Sorry, she wasn't really a whore, it just made me giggle to think of calling some sweet, innocent Romper Room lady something foul), my writing was never deemed worthy of The Pen. My sad, defeated self had to write in pencil all year long. Even kids who had sucky handwriting and probably grew up to be doctors got pen privileges. Hell, everyone got pen privileges but me. I know, I need a kleenex, huh? The nerve of my teacher! And so, in conclusion, this explains why to this day I won't write in cursive, why I have impeccable writing (seriously, when I want it to be, it's Top Notch), why I always use pens, and why I HATE pencils with a passion (especially the ones with refillable lead -those are the worst). The End.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Pencils Are Not My Friend
Other possible titles for this post were "Why Pencils Are Bad" or "I Hate Pencils," but I digress. Obviously, my disdain for the evil pencil is evident. Why such a strong reaction, you ask? Well, let me tell you. When I was in fourth grade (or maybe fifth, oh who knows, doesn't matter), my teacher gave us a Penmanship Challenge to help us improve our writing skills. To do so, we had to write all of our work in the Dreaded Pencil until the day he deemed us ready for the World of the Pen. Once we were worthy, we received a certificate (which is All Important in the life of a child, much like tacky trophies, stickers, and books from the book order) and then we'd be able to do all of our work with a pen. With a pen! Can you imagine? I couldn't wait for this blessed day to happen. Night after night I dreamt of that certificate and longed for the day I would write my oh-so-important stories in blue or black ink. I probably would have slept with a pen under my bed if I thought it would help.