Let's be real, we all still sometimes do things as inane as misspelling our own names. We write down a date from five years ago or mess up filling in those infernal bubbles on standardized testing forms. But never fear, the eraser is always there to save us from looking sillier than we already manage to on a daily basis.

You won't catch me writing with a pencil unless there's no other option, though. There's a whole world of materials out there: your 64 (or dare I say... 128?) pack of Crayola crayons that made you even cooler than the kid who always had a pack of gum: those multi-point pens you broke trying to use all the color options at once; and if you're an art nerd like me, all sorts of markers, inks, paints, and pastels.

Enter the permanent marker, a.k.a. the Sharpie.

The name "permanent marker" obviously implies that any mark made by one will last forever. I used to chase my friends around if they annoyed me, threatening to draw a Sharpie mustache worthy of winning a competition. You know, a lowkey, innocent version of the nonsense people draw on the unfortunate lightweight who's gone blackout on the couch. Because of their power of perpetuum, Sharpies are also used for far less nefarious romantic gestures. Think "The Last Song" type cheesiness.

Before the playground in my town was upgraded to a sleeker, more modern metal version, it was all wooden. If you were a big kid willing to risk a couple splinters, there was a little cupola you could clamber into nestled away from the miniature Godzillas in training wandering around. All over the roof and walls were scrawled messages. There was the occasional insult with all the depth an angsty preteen could manage, but mostly, it was a lot more of the Nicholas Sparks variety. Everywhere you looked, there were sets of initials separated by a little plus sign indicating two people had become one couple, like a simple mathematical equation. And I'm sure they believed it was when they printed those letters.