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Dear Fergie~
I've not been able to get in touch with you on your phone, so I thought this method of communication might be my next best bet, as I know you are a devoted fan.
Don't ruffle your flaming feathers--nothings wrong....really. I read your entries about our travels and it got me all sentimental and stuff. I began to look through our treasure chest of souvenir swizel sticks, photographs, hotel bathtub fixtures, evil casino cups and tiny (empty) bottles of liquor, when something I don't ever remember seeing caught my eye: a marriage certificate.
It seems we're married. Surprise!
Since we drank most of our brain cells away, I'm not really alarmed that I've forgotten our nuptuals. I am alarmed, however, that I can't remember the weekend that we apparently spent in Vegas. I made some calls to check out the validity of our marriage and it seems we are legends on the Strip. Every casino and chapel manager I spoke with wanted to know how my marriage to the Cher impersonator was. I heard stories of our drunken adventures of climbing into Caesar's lap and giving him our Christmas wish list and playing keep away with Siegfried and Roy's tiger's dinner. I was told that David Copperfield wants to see me again if I return, and your job application for the L.V. Rockette position was accepted. We are well known and fondly remembered in Sin City.
Oh, and the Elvis impersonator who runs The Little White Chapel of Love, assures me that since we signed the marriage certificate falsely as Sonny and Cher, the union is not valid.
I told you it wasn't a big deal.
design by fergie
Bits of fire in the sky push me east back home. I used to live in flames
but it's hard on the wings. Choke me. Smoke me. Scare me back. You try
but you just can't. I peel the layers in my spare time, and you're easy
to see through. I can fly, I've discovered on my own. I may be the lesser
butterfly but my wings are just as strong. Who are you to tell me to find
a place to land? I may be the lesser butterfly but baby watch me glide.
