“You look amazing,” I told her as I slid in and settled my patchwork bag on my lap. “Did you dye your hair in streaks?”
She shook her head. “They’re clip-ins. I have pink, too, but it felt like a green day.”
Her logic was undeniable. Or I was just really into her. Or both. Hard to say right then.
We set off on our hour-long drive into the flat countryside, talking about what we wanted to do and see at the Faire. We were both into the music, as it turned out, and very amenable to acrobatic and fire-eating type shows, but not nearly as excited about the comedy bits—though we agreed if we were near one when it started, we should give it a chance. “I love doing these. I love that some people get so into accuracy with period clothing, and that other people are fairies or elves or fairy-elf-p
