Hats Off, Hats On

Last weekend I decided to attempt a cloche hat. I've wanted one for quite a while despite the fact that I really don't look good in hats. I like hats. I have even been known to wear them. But wear them well? No, actually.

Exhibit A
There will be no Exhibit B.

The hat almost works. It's a little big, but it covers my head. I just don't like it as much as I thought I would. Mostly it's hot. 

I guess I'll have to wait until this business of the middle-aged heat wave finally passes. I had hoped 57 would be the magic number but apparently I have to get "upper" in age. 




Ah, I digress. Apologies. The cloche is my dream hat. Not the straw hats that I must wear in the Louisiana summer. Cloche hats are cute, sexy, and fun. Straws are utilitarian, sun fighers, blah if you will. 

I mean, who doesn't love a straw hat when the rays are hitting the part in your hair at 100 degrees? Ever had a sunburn on your head? The part-in-your-hair part of your head blisters. When the heat is that bad, the tops of your ears melt. Nothing short of a straw hat the size of a tree can handle that job. 

Preferably a well-worn, beaten up old straw hat. One with a string so you don't lose it when you pass out. Because in the South, passing out is the only thing you're allowed. God forbid that you whine a little (or a lot). 

Inside band and label

When the temps are 105 degrees, you are most likely sizzling on metal stadium seats. Trees don't grow in those kind of places; they have more sense than that. 



Southerners? Oh no, we don't have the sense of a tree. We go to little league games, Nascar races, football and soccer games and all manner of sit-on-a-hot-metal-seat events. Hats come in handy at those places. Hats and umbrellas. And sunscreen. Don't forget the sunscreen. Oh, and water. A towel to put on the seat. Yeah, that towel is pretty important to the hiney-end; no one wants a cooked hiney. 

Years ago (okay, many years) our boys were teenagers. They are athletes. As parents of three boys, we've bleachered every sport. In wind and rain, in sweltering sun and, once, in a November ice storm. The ice storm was bad. The August sun shining in my eyes at three in the afternoon--the bleachers absorbing heat all day long--was the absolute worst. 

Thank my lucky stars, I'd remembered my entire ensemble: a big red straw hat, a reflective silver umbrella, water, sunscreen and towel. I was the only momma in the stands. (Really. It was a scrimmage and some distance from home.) I did pass out (it's a requirement, remember?) during which time, my ears and eyelids melted.  Soon after, the seat of my pants burst into flames. Yep, I got a little hot but a big red hat saved my life. Too bad it couldn't save my toosh.