I spent a whole week locked in a box with Lunar and Euro, crammed together in the dark with nothing but faint ticking for company. No sunlight on my dial, no winding touch, no fresh air. Just darkness, muffled clinks, and the scent of leather and steel pressed against me.
When he finally opens the box and pulls me out, I expect a triumphant return to daylight and movement. A walk downtown. A drive by the ocean. Something worthy of a Swiss chronograph. But no. Work from home. Not even a proper desk setup — just endless typing, emails, and muted calls.
And then comes the ultimate insult. Without a second thought, he takes me straight into the kitchen sink to wash dishes. Soap. Water. Steam rising around me. I am a Swiss watch. I am built for precision timing, not scrubbing plates. My pushers are not waterproof buttons for kitchen duty. My crystal is not a splash guard.
Who does that? Who locks a Montblanc in a box for a week, then uses it as a dishwashing companion? I swear, one of these days I am going to start my own timing operation, counting down until he leaves me somewhere worthy of my caliber.