I saw it as soon as my feet hit the driveway, and my breath caught in my chest as I fell deeply, madly in love...there, gleaming in the morning sun of a local garage sale was the instrument every writer covets:
An Underwood No. 5 typewriter.
I played coy, pretending to examine the other sale items. Yet all the while my eyes darted over to the Underwood. It was in mint condition, all her keys intact, a piece of bond typing paper rolled in, black, blocky type evidence someone had tried her out. It had no price tag--a bad omen. As the saying goes, if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.
Giving myself a once-over, I grimaced. Damn. I was in a flop sweat from my kickboxing class, and let's just say standing downwind of me would NOT have been pleasant. My post-workout look, combined with the fact I only had $20, made the likelihood of me scoring this Writer's Holy Grail right about 2%.
But I had to try. I mean, look at her! Innit she purty?
The Fates were smiling that day--the wonderful woman found out I was a writer (a teeny little fact I let slip as we chatted), and felt I just HAD to have it for...wait for it...
FIFTEEN DOLLARS!! :)
I'm on Cloud 9! I officially own an Underwood No. 5--the same typewriter that Arthur Conan Doyle and F. Scott Fitzgerald used.
Happily TYPING my way to Ever After...