Caught Red Handed

writing history

First time I noticed it was just a few months ago. Was I bleeding? What was all the red on my hands? I was sewing and using a plastic handled seam ripper. Soon after that day, it happened again, but I had only touched a ballpoint pen. I figured it was the cheap pen that was given away with a calendar during the holidays until it happened again with a different pen with no red text printed on it. The red stains my hands even after washing.

I have been using pens for 60+ years and never experienced this until lately. I once favored a metal Parker pen, but for a long time now, I prefer the gel fine points. Most pens today have plastic bodies—polypropylene copolymer. The latest culprit was a newish Flair and Sharpie, two of my go-to pens for certain tasks.

All I can find out is that this seems to be dye transfer issue caused by the chemistry between the plastic and the skin on my palm. Curiously, this happened to my husband at the same time since we used the same pens.

More evidence that our consumer world favors profits requiring diminishment of quality over customer safety. This red mess only adds insult to injury. I have never used that expression, but it fits this moment quite well—another first-world problem to distract and annoy.

Meanwhile, the lunar new year energy is upon us…

While I have a few essays in process on dignity, the art of Yayoi Kusama, and creativity versus consumption, today’s lighter topic just fell upon me, along with this HAIKU…

RED DYE ON MY HANDS

WALL OF ART FOR PONDERING

BOX OF FRESH COOKIES.

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