Revenge of the Hats

Remember the hats? The rockingly awesome, seemingly benign flea market hats?

Yeah, those hats.

I'm kinda regretting the purchase of these lovelies at Sunday's flea market. Although they are stunningly beautiful, there is one problem with the hats.


They shed.

They shed a lot. They practically molt. Good grief, those little lime green and hot pink feathers are everywhere in my house. My vacuum cleaner bag is full of them. I do believe we left a trail of them in Target on Sunday. And Meijer. Hons, there are feathers everywhere.

My girls were sent outside on Sunday afternoon to vigorously shake the hats in hopes of dislodging any remaining loose feathers. Judging from the amount of pink and green feathers in the backyard, the girls did a superb job. And never one to be left out of anything, Ninja Kitty had a high old time stalking the feathers and attacking the hats.

Those feathers were everywhere. Even in my car. I was completely unaware that feathers rested in my Honda until Monday afternoon. The weather turned sunny and the temperature heated up to around seventy degrees. I was buzzing around town when I decided to put the windows down. Massive mistake. Out of the backseat arose a huge swarm of pink and green feathers.

That's right. It was a swarm.

The warm breeze from the open windows must have disturbed the nest of resting feathers and they blew into the front seat with me where they promptly went into my face. Like, while I was driving. I was so startled that I went off the road a bit. I pulled over and began puh-puhing the feathers out of my open mouth.

Yeah, my mouth was open. I was singing. You caught me. 'Raspberry Beret' was on the radio for crying out loud. I had to sing. It's in the Constitution. Look it up.

Fortunately the wind quickly sucked the feathers out of the car, which was pretty nifty because the wind has never really been on my side before this. I thought my life was free from the feathers forever. Until I got my haircut this morning.

Guess what my beloved hairdresser, Jen, found in my hair this morning as she was preparing it to be highlighted? A little lime green feather.

Guess what the National Guard soldier lady behind me in line at Subway this afternoon told me I had stuck to the butt of my dark indigo wash straight leg Levi's 525 jeans? A hot pink feather.

It's the revenge of the flea market hats. I'm afraid of where a feather will show up next.

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