November 15, 2005

How I got my Blue Heron pen for free.

Here is my Blue Heron pen, which I got for free.
If you'd like to know how I got it for free, I'll tell you. This past weekend my family went to Frankenmuth, MI, which touts itself as Little Bavaria. It was an alright place, but kind of disappointing because it wasn't really a Little Bavaria; although, my husband did buy a cuckoo clock which he's apparently wanted his entire life, so at least he's been able to fulfill that dream. At any rate, Frankenmuth didn't really create a little snapshot of Germany because they didn't sell bratwurst on brotchen, I couldn't find a decent pair of lederhosen anywhere, and there was no gingerbread to be found. However, I did have the best egg noodles I've ever tasted at the Bavarian Inn Restaurant. So, while we're in Frankenmuth, we stop by the St. Julian winery store where they offer free samples and whatnot. My husband bought a bottle of brandy and I picked out a nice bottle of cherry wine which was really tasty. While we're checking out, the manager says something to the register boy about giving away the postcards to whoever wants them. I noticed there was also a selection of pens by the register and I said, "What about the pens? Are those free for the taking as well?" And the manager said, "Uh, no. But you can have one for a dollar." I said, "But I'd like one as a free souvenir." At that time, my husband asked the manager if they can ship to Indiana. While the manager was looking through the book I said, "Tell you what, ask me a question, any question, and if I get it right, you'll give me one of these pens for free." So he said, "OK, do we ship to Indiana?" And I said, "No." And he said, "Go ahead and pick out a pen." I did a little happy dance at the register and told the manager he was a cool cat. And that's how I got my free pen, which doesn't even write well, by the way. I would have been really pissed if I'd paid a buck for it.

In other news, my sexy American girlfriend has found a sexy Italian boy toy. Figures. Figures she'd turn her back on our love for a little peck and tickle from some buff, overly-athletic Casanova from Tuscany, to boot. How can I compete with Tuscany and the accent? I can't, dammit. I can't. Oh, the torment. Oh, the woe. What ever shall I do?

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