I walked up and down the aisle like I was forced to give away my first-born child. The racks full of such variety, color, and style, I was confounded and frustrated.

Eyes scanning up to all of the pens, then down to the phone. Websites rife with conflicting advice. How many of these people are primadonnas? Pens are pens, right?

And without trying it, how am I supposed to know whether I need .03 or .05? I want to test drive them all.

Unless you treat pens like a fashion accessory, how the hell are you supposed to know the difference between these cylindrical objects that fall into and out of your possession at random?

Just as soon as I was settling on a Micron .03, I find the the Sharpie fine-tips. That sends me into a new sort of panic.

It really shouldn’t be so hard to buy a pen. But for some reason it is. And it sucks.

Indecision

At one point in my life, grad school, I think, I first noticed that some pens are just really good. Before that point, all of them were crap to me.

And yet one suddenly stood above them all, like a revelation: the Pilot V-Ball. Blue, not black.

But since I’m a cheapskate, I wouldn’t spend money on what I wanted. I’d grab whatever was on sale and knowingly deal with the inevitable disappointment.

Besides, pens defy physics: they always disappear.

When I got married, I found my pens would disappear more quickly. When I had our first kid, I noticed the disappearance rate increased exponentially. She’s a born writer.

When the second got old enough, I just started handing them over, afraid the rate of increase would rip a hole in the space-time continuum.

So I can’t afford to know things about pens. I wasn’t supposed to like rollerballs because they’re cheap. I liked gel because it’s darker. But it smears. And, you know, my pens appear and disappear like I’m living with Fred and George Weasley. So I went back to rollerballs. Why are they smearing now?

I bought some colored pens. I was super excited until I found out that they bleed through the paper. They claimed to be pens but apparently they’re really markers. Son of a…

Back to the m$%@#@ing Staples.

Just pick one.

So I’m standing here trying to figure out what to buy. Fine-line. Check. Yes, they may be in the art section. But some may not. Oh, I’m going to burst…

$2.99 for one. $6.99 for 4 in different sizes. [Which ones do I really need? And how the hell am I supposed to know again?]

Fine. One. I’ll buy it so I can try the damn thing. It’s only been 10 minutes and the three employees who have asked to help me are worrying about my sanity.

I can do this. Just check out and go away and stay away long enough for them to forget how long it took me to decide on a stupid pen.

Oh look! Pens by the register! Let’s have a look.

You’ve gotta be kidding me. Sharpie pens. $1.99. I can even test it. No. I’m done with this.

Fine. Two pens. $5 for the whole thing. Yes, I know it took me awhile. Thanks for mentioning it cashier. I’m not completely embarrassed or anything.

Finally, the test.

Unlock the car, turn the ignition. Pause. I then turn my head toward my notebook.

OK, here we go.

I grab the Sharpie and write “Sharpie” in the book. Then wipe my thumb across it.

No way.

I open the Micron package and try it, writing “Micron.” Ooh, it’s darker. I wipe my thumb across. Faintest smear. Try again, count to 5. Wipe. Nothing.

Now I get it.

---

This is a truish story, more or less. Don’t believe me? Check out this picture.

And if you’re wondering why a pen matters, chances are you don’t bullet journal. I’m pretty tool agnostic, but I endorse fine-line pens for anything.