Serendipity strikes again.

I change bags. Many women do. I leave things inside bags I don’t use for weeks. Many women do.

I found a Sterling fountain pen in red mottled hard rubber with an extraordinarily flexible nib at the bottom of a bag I had not paid attention to in months. If only for this, I am glad to be a woman with a fetish for bags, and for forgetting what I leave inside them.

The pen is an eyedropper I received in trade.

The nib has hardly any iridium left. I send up a tiny prayer every time I flex it.