Monday, November 1, 2010

The Pink Eraser Manifesto.

I remember a time when I was the go-to item in your pencil case. A time when loose-leaf paper and 5-Star Trapper Keeper’s ruled your world. A time when ice cream money guaranteed the success of a day, and milk money was even more pertinent. A time when the answer was usually something along the lines of “a person, place, or thing”.

Now, you’ve grown up, found Bic, learned to type, but above all else made me so proud. Sincerely. I’m Soccer Mom happy with your progress.

I’m just concerned that you moved on from me, lumping me in with the frivolous supplies you don’t need, like cheetah print pencils and protractors.

Listen, I’m no Walkman, no Pet Rock, or Pog. I have feelings, well, rubber eraser remnants. Their trail tells my story, excuse me, our story. Maybe I am too reserved to make things permanent like Sharpie or bleed through the page like a Uni-ball, but I don’t think your words are any less valid.

I just want to give you the option of a quick fix:
A moment to write your word and then check the synonyms.
A quick update to the eyebrow curvature of your doodle.
Maybe even a little ‘before the Boss sees this’ action.

My point in all this? I’m here to help and I’m not going anywhere. You can still use me, you can still problem-solve with me, and you can still toss me in the air while trying to pass time in-between assignments.

I’m putting my rubber down on this one, anything this good is worth fighting for, and we’ve been together for too long.

Let’s make love to 8 x 10’s again.

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