"Do what in your where now?" said Brigid, looking out over the kitchen pass-through.
"Well," said Greg, "normally I carry a pencil, a pen, and a small pad in my pocket, in case I think of something I want to make note of. But mysteriously, the pencil is gone, and take a look at the pen." He held it up for her: the case was cracked and the pen was bent at a 30° angle, roughly 2/3s down the length. It appeared to be mostly luck that had kept ink from spewing out all over the place.
"Yikes!" said Brigid. "How did that happen?"
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" said Greg. "The pencil overpowered the pen and made good its escape. I'm sure it's fled south of the border by now. I'm just disappointed in my note pad, that it would watch all this happen and not intervene. It's a sad comment on the state of the world today."
"Not as sad as the fact that you have writing utensils fighting in your pants and don't notice it," she replied.
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