Dear Friends,
My spies made a significant discovery as they were doing their regular once-over of my blog (to check for counter-spies, supervillians other than myself, and tourists). They found a note, hidden in the "comments" section, purported to be written by my beloved pencil, which went missing awhile ago. I did not believe it at first, yet the handwriting was unmistakable. It was indeed my P. Plain old P when it was clutched in my hand, Persnickety when I held it tentatively in between my fingers, and Penelope when I visited the offices of M. The note reads as follows:
Look, Karl, I know you have your minions out looking for me, but I am a pencil in Paris who doesn't want to be found.
I am in the hands of someone else now. You were always too generous with lending me - now I am gone.
Please do not look for me, I will remember you fondly
P.
What can I say? P, you know that's not where you belong- My clothes are never dirty and my hands are always clean, aside from the blood of countless Oompa Loompas. Don't you remember the good times we had? We went to the beach where I took photographs of Claudia- we spent many nights in bed, sketching couture- do you remember our outing to Vermont? Don't let Anna fool you for a second- you're my number one, aside from myself.
Frankly, I am not going to search for you anymore. I am calling the hounds off. There are a lot more pencils in the jar. Your new owner could grind you down to a mere point with one of those new mechanical pencil-shavers. How would you like that? Could you wear Philip Treacy if you were a stub? Could you dress in fur and ivory from pianos? Think about that, young pencil.
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5 comments:
Aaahhh, pencil. You know what they say about a pencil is one heck of a more powerful weapon than a sword! Just bought a couple of sketch books and just can't start to continue what's left from the last one.
Dearest K,
My thoughts of our Oompa Loompa massacres brought a tear to my metallic embellishments. you know this is not personal. You have always been the one pushing me to the side of your pocket, away from your heart. Do you remember when you snapped three pencils in front of me, to show me what would happen if I didn't perform? Do you remember the week I spent in the bottom of a Vuitton bag in punishment for a less than perfect collection?
You threatened to leave me after you lost all your weight. You told me you were now fit enough to carry around a million of me, that you didn't need me anymore. I put up with a lot from you, K. I stuck with you through fat and thin - it... it almost hurts that you wish me to be ground down to a stub.
It was you who left me at the Four Seasons after cola with Anna. I waited for hours for you. Then, Vivienne found me. I was a mess, I tell you. I had rolled under a table and I was covered with dust and stray hairs. I was almost down the drain before I caught her eye.
Anyway, I'm over that now. Vivienne, she just cares for me. She wraps me in her hair when she's not using me. I can get lost in there for hours. She chews on me when she's thinking - she even writes letters with me, letters. When was the last time you wrote a letter, K?
It is early here, I can hear Vivienne calling. She must have woken up.
Salut K,
Le Crayon
Ahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! So Sorry, What Is The World Coming To?
StyleNonsense.blogspot.com
Uncle Karl,
I, too, have suffered the loss of many a dear pencil. Some, like yours, have run away, and others yet were found ground down to stubs (it was a fetish here for a while, tiny pencils are like accessory childrens). But I have switched to mechanical pencils, and now they are all undyingly, robotically loyal to me.
Father, forgive him, for he knows not what he is doing.
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