I bought a pencil

I bought a pencil today. Usually I prefer pens. As a writer my fountain pen is more then a pen, it is a tool, holding the secrets of future writings. My pen is a beautiful iridescent royal blue mixed with one part white. However, because I have finally knuckled down to improve my French grammar, I need a pencil for the exercises in the lesson book. I correct with the pen so I have a permanent record.

The clerk, a woman dressed in dark pants and vest, took me to a stand with numbered holes stuffed with pencils. She asked if I wanted one that was more and less gras French for fat. They were all the same size so I assumed she was referring to the content of the lead.

She brought me a paper so I could test out the different pencils. Since they all felt the same, I wanted one that would erase the most easily with my treasured knead eraser. I took my selected pencil to the cash register. It cost 60 centimes about 90 cents.

Although I have stated I want a life where I want everything I own has meaning and nothing is casual, I never expected that would go to pencils. However, this new-leaf green pencil is imbued with a memory that I never expected a pencil to have.

In university I read a medieval play about Gammer Gurton who had a real treasure, a needle. I now know how Gammer Gurton felt.