"For goodness sake, Kattie, no one's going to even know the difference," Teresa impatiently acknowledged. "It looks just like wool to me, and it's half the price of the real thing. Just whip out your plastic and buy the blame thing. Mike's going to love it. You said yourself that he's wanted a sheep skin jacket for years. Give it to him when you get home, and tell him it's an early Christmas present. He'll never even look at the tag. ... Bet my life on it."
"Yeah," Kattie hesitantly agreed. "What do you think, Diane?"
"Well, it's up to you. You have been looking for quite some time, and this is the closest thing you've found so far. ... It looks real."
Kattie held the waist length jacket out in front of her one more time while Teresa and Diane tried to read her expression. She draped the coat over her left arm again and rubbed her right palm over the thick, soft fibers. Then, as a final test, she pressed her fingertips deep into the yarn. The abundant synthetic resisted but with a slight pressure, Kattie was able to touch the heavy woven backing. Relieved, Kattie regarded the jacket. It looked just like wool and it felt just like wool and it was half the price of real wool. No one would know the difference except her, Teresa, Diane, and maybe Mike (if, just if, he looked at the tag).
"Kattie," Teresa interjected, "why can't you make up your mind? Good grief, girl, it's a great buy. Mike'll love it, just love it. I swear, it looks just like the real thing, and you know as well as I do that it feels just like the real thing too."
"Yeah, I guess you're right, Teresa. It's just that I'll know it's not the real thing. It's sort of like I'm compromising. If I'd just wait a few more months, it won't be too cold yet, and a real one might go on sale, and, by then, I could have some more money saved."
Glancing toward the exit, Teresa continued. "Sure, and the world could end tomorrow or there could be a blizzard or you could have an unexpected bill pop up. Just go on and get it, and let's get out of here. ... Diane and I'll wait for you at the door."
"Well ..."
"Go on. He'll love it," Teresa admonished.
Kattie turned toward the cashier's counter while Teresa and Diane chattered as they walked to the door. During the cashier's shuffling of bills and pleasantries, she could hear their inaudible whispers. Instinctively, she tensed as she stumbled toward recognition. "I've changed my mind," she said. "This isn't quite the quality I want."

W. Lee Kincy's work has appeared in the Southeast Missourian, The Vindicator, Sweetgum Notes, and other publications.

Copyright © 2006. Do not reproduce without permission.

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