Wherein The Hat Is Found

You know, it’s occurred to me in, oh, the last three days or so, that I’ve written an awful lot about clothing. New clothes this, hat that, and now this! Another blog about that damn hat? You gotta be kidding me.

No, I’m not kidding you. But you know what I’ve decided? Today’s blog?

Absolutely free.

So back to my hat!

As you may or may not have read in a previous posting, I recently lost my second hat in less than a month.

What could I do? I scratched my head, I frowned. I muttered various complaints. Nothing worked, however; and my hat remained lost.

So what do I do when frowning and muttering don’t work?

Yoga.

And I was sitting there, in my yoga pants and my yoga top, diggin’ the yoga music and getting myself in a yoga frame of mind, when Amy sat down next to me.

“Did you lose a hat?’

“What?”

Amy is a very patient person. “A hat,” she said. “A red hat. Did you lose one?”

“Yes! I did!”

“I thought I recognized that hat,” she muttered. She turned to me. “I’ll take you to it, after yoga.”

What? She’ll take me to my hat? What is this?

Is my hat in trouble?

But it was too late to grill Amy on what kind of shenanigans my hat may be up to; and we spent the next hour and some pushing ourselves into interesting and sweat-producing shapes.

Amy, by the way, does a kick-ass “crow pose”; and if you ever run into her, you should definitely ask to see it.

Let us skip all of that, though: the poses, the sweat, the inevitable “om” at the end.

Let’s fast-forward to the walk to the car.

Because there, on a post in the parking lot, is my red hat.

I would like to tell you that I forgive her for running away and making me worry, that the slight stains on her brim do not smell like alcohol. I would like to tell you that I did not notice the group of young caps slinking down the street, their jaunty price tags flapping in the January wind, or the one at the back who kept turning around to look at her one more time…

Oh, what the hell. I took her home. I’ll have her cleaned.

All is forgiven.

And THAT, my friend, is what we call both a happy ending and a Friday post.



p.s. I know I said “happy ending”. Take it away, baby! Have a good weekend!

p.p.s.: Eskimo Bob has asked me to guest blog. As a fellow denizen of the Great White North, how could I say no? Pop over if you have time!