Hat trauma

Fellas, if you’re ever on your way out the house and your wife says you look cute, go change immediately. Here’s why:
About three or four years ago when I lived in my condo, where if my dog had to go outside, I had to walk her, I bought a hat to keep my head warm on our daily winter walks. The hat is grey knit with a white-and-maroon winter pattern racing around it. Fake sheepskin-lined ear flaps hang down to my cheeks with long tassels to tie under the chin to secure the flaps down or to tie above your head to secure them up. The only thing missing is a fuzzy ball on top. The hat is quite warm, but other than to walk my dog or shovel snow, I won’t be caught dead with it on out of the house, because I think I look a little ridiculous wearing it. After years of social neglect, the hat got its revenge.

A few weeks ago, I headed out to a couple photo assignments for the Sun Day, followed by a few errands. The assignments were outside, so I needed a hat to keep warm. I usually wear my sleeker, tight-knit hat that doesn’t have ear flaps or tassels (or a winter pattern) and doesn’t make me look like a rosy-cheeked toddler. You’ll remember a few editions ago I talked about how long and out of control my hair was. I’ve since cut my hair short, but my hair stretched out my knit hat to the point it hangs on my head like a limp WWII army helmet, so I had no choice but to put on the, we’ll call it, earflap hat. I also had on a grey winter vest, black jeans with holes in the knees, a flannel shirt and thermal underneath, and hiking boots. Barring the hat, I thought I looked pretty rugged, living up to the cliché rock-star photographer image.

On the way to the door, I said goodbye to my wife. In return, she said, “You look cute.”

I quickly informed her “cute” isn’t something you should really say to guy, and she said, “Well, you know what I mean.”

Warning bells should have sounded, but I was burning daylight and on deadline, so I didn’t waste time changing or arguing my wife. The photos went well and without incident, mainly because they were all exterior shots of buildings with only my reflection to notice me.

Photos done, I headed to the grocery store, where I immediately became aware of my hat and that the tassels bounced around my head like Pippie Longstocking’s pig tails. No one seemed to notice, though, so I pressed on, got my groceries, and went to the checkout lanes. Searching for an open lane, a checker waved her arm at me and said, “I’m open over here, ma’am.”

Yes, she was talking to me.

What I mistook for a slightly Bohemian look was apparently slightly feminine; my wife’s words echoed in my ears, unmuffled by the earflaps..
I went home and told my wife, I’m never wearing the hat out of the house again. To which she said, “But you look so cute in it.”

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