"No," he replied thoughtfully, "your figure is more akin to a fountain pen. A very, very expensive fountain pen. Sleek, slender, silver....and fragile-looking to the eye but with a surprising and very satisfying weight in your hand, and a mercurial roll in your fingers. It takes skill to hold it. It takes skill to write with it. But once you master the fountain pen you will never go back..."
She raised her eyebrows at him and slowly drank the rest of her coffee. "I'll write down my number for you," she said finally, "do you have a pen?"
"Certainly," he said, going for his inside pocket.
