The Call

It calms me to see them all lined up in their jackets, colourful plastic or, better yet, translucent barrels. Gel rollers, ballpoints, fountain nibs and rollerballs. Retractables retracting with their satisfying clicks. Felt tips that slash paper with colour.

They are more than pens. They represent potential. Possibilities. They are songs yearning for a composer to set them free, masterpieces crying out for an artist worthy to coax them from the page. I walk away from the aisle before anyone catches me fondling the packages and gives me another warning.

I hear the Siren's call of the labelers despite my best attempt to exit the store via the totally un-sexy binder section 2 rows over. I study the boring primary colored vinyl as an attempted distraction but know I will cave as I unwittingly add a Blueberry iMac-tinted folder to my shopping basket. The lure is too strong.

I approach my prey but have to suppress a growl as I spot a child mashing the keys of my favourite blue and silver unit. It's the one with the 15-character LCD display and he's totally going to wreck it! "That is not a toy," I snarl in my best 'mean stranger lady' voice inches from his ear then smile self-righteously as he flees to find his mommy.

I stroke the mini keyboard apologetically before quickly producing three labels of my name. I smile imagining all the things I could use such a handy piece of technology for at the office - reports and folders all neatly labeled in clear text - and at home - containers and boxes all easily identifiable. Endless possibilities.

Unfortunately, it was likely that my attempt at labeling for organization would quickly turn to chaos as everything I owned gained a label - at first it would only be floppy discs and files but soon there would be labels that read 'fridge', 'bathtub', 'cat', 'husband'.

I put the labeler down and back away slowly.