Women and hats, a magical combination beyond our manly comprehension, beyond our style, our grace, because “the men don’t know/But the little girl understand” [JM] More than once have I grabbed a hat off the shelf in our posh Salvation Army Thrift Store and looked in the mirror, which said, “You’re cracking me up; get out of my sight, and quickly, before you get hurt.”
After that unnecessary rubbing in, I place the chapeau on my daughter Holly and the hat lights up with loveliness. A woman can look good in any sort of hat, a helmet even; it really doesn’t matter. Holly looks in the same mirror that had threatened me with seven years bad luck, looks this way and that, left side, right side. The mirror blushes, then gushes, “Yikes. YOU are the fairest of them all.” Holly takes off the hat as if nothing amazing had just happened and says, “I don’t think it’s for me.” Fine with me. Buying a hat for a woman would be madness.
Hats and girls. Women and hats. Just appreciate them, for “the men don’t know/But the little girl understand.”