Boyfriend got me a typewriter for Christmas. I died.
When I saw the giant box, I had no idea what it was. When I felt how heavy it was, I really had no idea. "So...not jewelry?" I thought to myself.
On one of our earliest dates at the Orange Circle, we got gelato and walked around the antique shops. There was a typewriter in one of the stores and I told him how much I would love to have one someday. I completely forgot I told him this.
But he didn't. He went to a bunch of different antique stores, looked for the best one (not an electric one, obvs, and preferably one that worked), and found this treasure. A few of the keys didn't work...he fixed them...he bought a new ribbon for it...he cleaned it up.
It's so beautiful. It's from the 30's or 40's. It works great. Its keys clack clack clack away and it has that sweet ping when I type to the end of the line. It even smells good.
It might be the best present I've ever gotten.