Alas, I should have given it a name

My pen ran out of ink this afternoon!

Yes, that’s right, alert the media and break out the bubbly! This calls for a celebration! I’m going to party like five years ago it was 1999!

Okay, perhaps I am getting just the slightest bit carried away. Just maybe. The amazing part is, though, that this has never happened to me before. Once, way back in grade school, I found a pen that had very little ink left and I used it until it ran out, but I have never been the sole user of a pen that ran out of ink. Every other pen I ever possessed (809 pens to be exact - I counted) was lost before this momentous occasion could take place.

Pens are slippery little things with absolutely no loyalty. They jump out of your backpack. They dematerialize from your pencil case. They roll off your desk, and disappear into “Behind the Furniture/Appliance Land.” They tempt passersby, waving their flexgrip barrels, just asking to be slipped into a concealed pocket. Because of these nasty pen tendencies, I am only now, with pen #810, able to complete the entire cycle of pen life. And how did I commemorate this milestone? I threw the pen in the trash!

It was an ever so satisfying experience!

(ps. I don’t really count the number of pens I’ve owned. I mean that would make me crazy, right? So, I would never actually do that. No, of course not. Yeah.)