If there was a Santa, and I had been a good boy all year, this is what I’d ask for this year:
Come to think of it, I may just raid the pitifully light piggy bank, make a bid, and give it to myself for Christmas. That right there is a highly classy writing machine. With a light cleaning and a new ribbon in it, that little Remington will be good to serve for another eighty years at least, and it would be a shame if some Visigoth won that auction and put that baby up as a desk decoration…or worse, amputated the keys for art deco jewelry, and tossed the rest into the dumpster.
(Seriously, jewelry crafters: Don’t do that. It’s like buying a vintage 1930s car on eBay just to skin the seat leather for a patchwork coat, and then having the wrecker crush the car.)