Cait, I owe you an apology.

Back in the days of yore, three Healeys and I went shopping in Chelsea. We trekked through size 14 men's stillettos and questionable evening attire, and eventaully found our way to the fabric store. There we ran through racks of glitterball and satin, all the while laughing at your sister. Soon, we stumbled upon a treasure grand enough for Mavrelion's third block english class: a 16 inch orange plume. Mouths agape at the discovery, we reveled in the possibilities. Headress? Bookmark? Pencil-topper?
Spirits were high as we pooled our pocket change to buy it. Then, though I do not recall the specific comment, you remarked on how life-like the feather felt. Hilarity! Liz and I chortled through the chintz as we told you, mockingly, fake feathers! there's no such thing as fake feathers! But it's ORANGE! you replied, holding the great feather aloft. They dye them, silly! And you, Cait, were horrified that you were holding a feather from a real, live, bird. Oh, how we laughed at your confusion.


It wasn't until this afternoon, years later, that I found myself surrounded by artificial-feather-enthusiasts. What are you talking about?! they asked in disbelief. Of COURSE there are fake feathers. Duggan has a whole box of them!
Still holding firm in my resolve, I didn't believe them. Until I got home and did some research. Apparently there are specail machines that came make artificial feathers.

Thus begins my apology. Cait, I am sorry we were so quick to judge. I am sorry we laughed at, what was at the time, your very funny misunderstanding. I am sorry we made fun of your shock the rest of the afternoon. I am sorry we chased you around the store with feathers making wild bird calls. Forgive me.




ash @ 7:12 PM