Write

"Oh God" He thought, "please don't."
Angela had it. The coolest, most prestigious item in perhaps the history of the world. The object to define the suave and sophisticated young man that he was. The item he had so long fantasized about having.
It was an Asiachi-original leather bound notebook. So sleek, so elegant.
So inevitably doomed.
There it rested, precariously, atop Angela's tiny head as she gracelessly threw out her scrawny arms for balance and smiled radiantly to her imaginary audience.
She was in the backyard of their country home playing circus once again, the two metre length of rope stretched out along the fence to make a tight rope.
"Watch me!" she called, seeing his wide eyes from the window, as she attempted a short jump.
"Wait! Angela, don't--!"
She made it. Waved. Made to attempt the jump once again.
"Angela, hang on--!"
She wobbled, bent her knees; threw her arms out just a little more.
He sprinted down the garden, almost at the fence post, just a couple of feet until he was almost right at her side.
Balanced on the line once more, a delighted smile on her face, she attempted just one more jump.
"Put it down!"
And it fell, with a splat to the mud puddle below. The Asiachi-original, leather bound notebook. $19.99. Ruined.