I am not what you call, a hat person. Being someone who looks mostly ridiculous in any kind of headwear, I live in fear that I may be called upon to show up at a Garden Party with the Royal Family and give thanks that no Prince has ever come calling.
When I left the house yesterday morning to go to work, it was minus 7 degrees outside and knowing there would be considerable walking in my future both before and after Skytrain, I reluctantly donned my warmest hat to date.
Ken bought me a fake fur number for Christmas. Think something a hunter would wear in the woods, complete with earflaps. Now imagine it covered in fake brown fur. I looked like I mugged a wolf.
However, because all other commuters were too busy wearing their own silly hats and shivering from the cold, happily, no one even gave me a second look. Either that or I couldn’t see them with all that fur in my eyes. Apparently, I was the only person on the Skytrain who thought I looked odd.
It took me a while to figure out what I looked like with my fur hat, red jacket, black pants and boots. Hell, give me a Muscat and a box to stand on and I could have been a guard at Buckingham Palace!
The goods news is that the hat conquered even the coldest of winter days and that was the only reason to wear it. No matter that the fur kept falling down my face obscuring my vision. No matter that if I tried to look either left or right, I ended up looking into the inside of my hat. I was warm…toasty even. And for that, I was thankful.
Now let’s hope that warm spell comes back today as scheduled so I can put my Busby back in the closet where it belongs.
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