Still reeling with secret jealousy over Strikethru's latest retail treasure, I made my usual thrift rounds today at lunch in search of a fish sculpture (don't ask.) A complete bust on the fish, but look what I uncovered instead.
I feel like a wine nut that's just found a bottle of rare Château Snooty at the local swap meet. It's brand-new, still wrapped in tattered plastic, a band around the sheets of delightfully nubby, super-light paper. It's been years since I held a sheet of this stuff. I promised myself that I would not covet the fine paper collections of my fellow typecasters, that using the backs of cheap office cast-offs would do me just fine. I'm of midwestern stock, I'm supposed to be Practical and Sensible about this sort of thing.
Did I mention that I can't stop sniffing the paper? I hope Southworth didn't treat their papers with anything noxious, or I'll be getting an unintentional contact high, and I'm already a bit giddy.