Sean and I fight about pens. Why do I steal his deliciously thick G3 pens? How do those fat, luscious writing utensils end up in my bag after he bought them? Because I believe in taking responsibility for my actions, I’ll explain it to you- by blaming it on my 1st grade teacher.
I trace it back to September of '88....
My family moves to Bensalem, Pennsylvania and I enter a new school. I’m scared every day to go to class because my teacher, Mrs. Dameron, has one good eye and one eye that looks like a cracked marble dipped in mucus. Long ago, when Mrs. Dameron attended fourth grade in London, a school chum bit off the eraser from his pencil and accidentally gouged her eye with the metal end. We only use crayons in class.
Naturally, because my fine motor skills developed with the use of chunky crayons, I gravitate towards chunky pens. I’m helplessly attracted to them and should be lauded for my self-knowledge and strong instincts rather than scolded for thievery.
P.S. Eventually, Mrs. Dameron became one of my favorite people. I learned to look past hideous disfigurement to appreciate the person inside; thus my relationship with Sean can exist.
P.P.S. I’m just kidding about Sean being disfigured. He has impeccable bone structure.
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