Dear Sharpie markers,
Every time I open your colourful lid, your penetrating odor reaches my nostrils. The result is a near-being-high experience, no drugs needed. Despite this smell, I still love you to death. Not because of the beautiful colours that fill my paper once I glide the tip over it, not because of how nice they are to hold, no, because every single last aspect of you is perfect, well, except one tiny little thing…
Why do you bleed through everything I love? When I’m casually using you on a piece of paper, mindlessly drawing and not taking any precautions, such as putting several other paper scraps underneath to prevent you from bleeding onto our dining table (sorry mom). It really seems as if bleeding through is your hobby, or as I’d like to say it:it seems as if you are experiencing terrible period pains and tend to experience these mood swings by bleeding through.
This brings me to my second point of complaint. You guys love, and I mean really love, to abuse my lovely piece of paper. What did that sad little paper do wrong? Nothing, I guess. But as if you are the schoolbully, you tend to leave a path of destruction behind every time I’m not fast enough to lift you off the page again. Look what you’ve done, this is probably why all of my paper has trust issues.
Oh, lovely sharpies, I really love you all to death. I’ve been using you at least once a day since I got you last december and I really don’t plan on breaking my habit anytime soon. I admit, I love to complain about you, to whine and to freak out whenever a new colourful spot is added to our already ruined table, but deep down inside of me, I love you.
P.S does anyone know how to remove sharpie permanent markers from a wooden table?