There was a time when both men and women regularly wore hats. As a kid I remember some older men wearing hats but over the years they’ve faded away. I didn’t play baseball as a kid and I sure as hell would have looked like a tool walking around with a football helmet on so I wore bandanas when I worked in the yard, hiked and went running. After I discovered that there were hat sizes courtesy of the US Army I was finally able to buy a fitted Red Sox cap which I promptly lost in a topless Jeep on 495 heading back from Cape Cod.
Probably the only hats I see nowadays are the ubiquitous baseball hat and, in the winter, stocking caps for warmth. Folks in the Midwest and Texas are used to seeing people wearing cowboy hats. In New England, if you wear a cowboy hat and are not riding a horse (or Mare) at the same time, you are a douche.
The whole reason I’m thinking of hats is an image I saw while surfing the internet. It is Lena Olin, kneeling over a mirror wearing lingerie and a man’s hat. It is from a scene in a movie based on the book “The Unbearable Lightness of Being“. I read the book on the recommendation of a girl who gave me a great hummer after I broke off my engagement with another girl. I figured it was the least I could do. Anyway, I totally forget what the book is about but remember it was an okay read.
This image ended up on the wall in the men’s room at a bar called Ralph’s in Worcester, MA along with hundreds of other random clippings from magazines that were used for wallpaper by someone who liked decorating bathrooms. Someone had written, with ballpoint pen, “I fucked her titz (sic)” and signed it Fitz. During the 10 years I lived in that town I’d say I went to Ralph’s about 100 times and drank between 200-300 pints of beer there. Over that time the IfuckedhertitzFitz girl greeted me every time I drained my bladder. Who knows, maybe she still greets drunkards to this day.
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