The first time I ever went to the Renaissance Faire, I was thirteen, had a crush on a boy named Ross, and brought home a dusty pink leather rose that had been scented with an oil they called "breath of love". I liked to imagine that Ross had given it to me. Silly girl, and so much a girl.
Memories of the Renaissance Faire are as strong in my mind as memories of Christmas. This year, Shannon and I went, just the two of us. It just made sense to, since this raucous kitschy festival means so much to the two of us, together as sisters.
We ate, we drank, and we were merry indeed.