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A Head for Hats

I learned something about myself a long time ago that has haunted me everyday of my life.  I do not have a head for hats.  There I said it.  I don’t.  I wish I did because hats are cool but I can’t wear a hat no matter how cool it is.  I don’t know why exactly, maybe it has something to do with my cranium size and shape in proportion to standard hat designs.  I’m not sure, I just know every hat, save the traditional baseball cap I’ve ever put on my head looks pretty dorky on me.  I always find myself envious of those guys who could wear hats and make it look cool.

If I did have a head for hats I’d wear one all the time.  I would look cool no matter where I went and would never have to worry about fixing my hair.  Style and convenience wrapped up in one, who can beat that?   I wish I could sing too because I would sing all my conversations and when I was finished singing to the person, I’d tip my hat and walk away.  Shoot, if I could sing and tap dance?  I would Fred Astaire my ass everywhere.

I don’t have a head for hats.  Wow, that’s therapeutic just saying it.  I can move on with my life now.  No more sneaking off to Target in disguise hoping against hope the straw hat will do it for me.  I can walk with my head held high knowing it’s ok to be topless.    You become empowered when you embrace who you are.  It’s like coming out of the closet, well, I guess it’s exactly like coming out of the closet.   Literally putting your hats away up in your closet and coming out of it then going to work or something.  It’s very liberating.

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