When my husband, Marc, and I went to Florida in January, my mom gave him a gift card for a music and video store for his birthday. Before she drove us to the airport, she took us to the mall, so Marc could use his present.
When we reached the airport, we had some time to kill because our flight was delayed. Marc decided to use the opportunity to open up all the CDs and DVDs he just got to better check them out. The plastic wrapping was stubborn, and didn't easily come off. So, Marc asked me if I had a pen in my bag that he could use to puncture the protective covering.
"I do," I replied as I started riffling through my purse. Unable to easily find it, I started taking out some of my bag's contents. I removed my Blackberry, followed by our digital camera, my Ipod and, lastly, my Kindle. "I got it!" I exclaimed as I handed Marc a sharply pointed, bright yellow, number two pencil.
He held the pencil in front of his face as if it was a foreign object. "A pencil?" he asked, perplexed. "What are you doing carrying a pencil? With all that technology you are toting around can't get into this century and carry a pen?"
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