Hat Drill

As Carla and I were getting ready to go out for dinner, I glanced into the mirror and thought for the 1,000th time just how much it sucks to have my hairline start in the middle of the top of my head. I was disgusted with my shiny double forehead.

Yelling impatiently backward: “You ready?”

Carla shouted back: “Ill be right there, I'm just going to grab a sweater in case Ned puts us under the vent again and tries to freeze me.” Then she came down the three stairs from the main house into the great room addition, sweater in hand.

Going over to the hat pegs and selecting the “newsboy cap”, I said: “This makes me look like I should run an Italian Deli in New York. You like it?”

Carla: “Yes, it looks good” Switching hats, I asked: “Or do you prefer this ball cap? No, everybody and his brother wears these things. How about a nice Fedora? Or maybe this wide brim Panama?”

Carla, was tiring of the ritual and eager to get to dinner. “I like that last one best. Wear that.”

As I immediately hung the Panama back up on its peg she questioned me, sounding frustrated: “So which one are you going to wear?” Walking impatiently toward the door to leave, I answered...”None of them. You know I hate hats!”

It was an excellent dinner anyway, Ned's Trout Piccata is the best. Sitting toward the back of the main dining area, my head illuminated the dark corner as if someone had just oiled my double forehead. I could see my distant reflection in his big mirror across the room. “I've really got to get myself a hat.” I thought to myself as the waitress brought me the check.