Anal Queen

I'm a little bit anal sometimes. This may come as no surprise, given that this blog centers around my obsession with keeping my teeth clean. But I'm not anal in all ways. As I confessed in my first real post , I am very fastidious in some ways and pretty easygoing (or slobby or disturbingly nonchalant or chronically tardy) in others.

One thing I'm anal about is pens. I care a lot about what color ink I'm writing with, the smoothness with which that ink flows from my pen, and the feel of the pen in my hand. I must have black ink, otherwise I feel that I am not really representing me as I write. Unless I am grading or doing other types of teacherly writing, in which case the ink must be green. Black or green, the ink in my pen must flow smoothly, not splotchily, from my pen, which means I have to have a certain brand of pen, and the point of my pen must be fine. (I've never met a medium point pen that wasn't a little sluttish in the distribution of its ink.) I also like a nice bit of cushion at the grip point, though not too much (spare me the pens that look and feel like they're wearing little down muffs). Lately, I've been on a good long run with Pentel RSVP fine point green pens and Pilot EasyTouch fine point black pens.

(I'm pausing to worry that Esereth is reading this thinking "Fucking feta cheese blogging! What is she going on about?")

Anyway, my anality with regard to pens is merely background for a little story that illustrates not how anal I am, but what a thoroughgoing scatterbrain I am.

It's the end of the school year. Stress levels are high. I am running around the building trying to perform three different roles at once, and somehow I have mislaid my pen. I must find my pen. I retrace my steps three times, looking everywhere, but it is nowhere, nowhere. One of my colleagues passes me in the hall and makes the mistake of asking how I am. Not one to forget my petty troubles and give a civil reply, I kvetch. "Aaargh! I lost my pen!" She gives me a look that's 15% sympathy and 85% amusement and walks on. A moment later I hear her call after me: "Hey, you have a pen in your back pocket."

Of course. I am 10% annoyed with myself for wasting my time searching all over Satan's briny backlot for an object that's been communing with my ass all the while and 90% grateful to have found my precious pen.

Which just goes to show: 1. If you bitch loudly enough, someone may come to your rescue and solve your problem for you, and 2. It pays to keep your ass in plain view.