Millinery Madness

There are "hat people" and then there are the "non-hat people."  I have always considered myself to be the latter.  Until recently that is. When I hit sixty, I decided that I wanted to wear a hat.

It's not that I never tried to wear hats before.  Many years ago I visited my sister when she lived in Texas.  While there, I bought a genuine black cowboy hat.  I love it.  Love it!  Even though I live in Ceciltucky,  cowboy hats don't translate well on people like me.  People who wear cowboy hats need to wear cowboy boots, and  I much prefer sneakers.  So, my beautiful and expensive hat was only worn a few times.  Once was when I dressed as a country western singer, and another time was when my niece let me borrow the cowboy boots formerly owned by my mother ( but taken over by my fashionista niece) so that I could be a rhinestone cowgirl for Halloween. Other than those random occasions, my beautiful hat sits in my office.

I own a collection of attractive straw hats.  I buy them on sale during the off-season with the intention of wearing them all summer and protecting my aging complexion from too many UV rays.  They look so cute in the store.  I feel like drinking mint juleps and speaking in a southern accent when I try them on.  However, actually wearing summer hats can be a pain.  If I happen to be around either of my nieces while wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, they confiscate it.  Those girls are adorable, and they know they are particularly cute when they don a hat. So, I'm left bare-headed and sun burned.  If there's even a slight breeze, a wide-brimmed straw hat can take off like a Frisbee.  I feel like a fool following a hat down the street.  Ah, but that dream of summering in gauzy dresses, strappy sandals, and summer straw hats never dies. 

Recently I traveled to Cape May with my Darby Township Elementary gals.  We tried on hats in a little shop, and I fell in love with a gray  chapeau.  I also loved the gray and maroon cloche hat that I tried to talk Joyce into buying since there was no way my budget could handle two purchases.  Eventually, I chose the jaunty Downton Abby fedora.  I love it, and I am determined to wear it.  This woman is going to become a hat person because if a woman in her sixties can't wear what she wants, well then, who can?  It's been a cold winter; therefore, I do not look out of place in a woolen hat.  I just feel out of place and a bit silly.  However, I've received many compliments.  In fact, my cane fu instructor told me twice how much he liked my "lid." 

I am gradually coming into my own as a "hat person."  If I ever get back to Cape May, I'm going to buy the hat that my friend felt silly wearing.  Or maybe, just maybe, Joyce will get back to the Cape before I do.  She'll claim that hat, and we will wear our "lids" together.