The Drug Deal Hat

Of course it wasn't really a drug deal. That's just what it felt like. I was standing in front of an open car trunk while Linda, a friend from my church, showed me the goods. She'd packed up some excess hats and scarves into two Hefty bags. It felt like a scene from a movie, where characters pick up contraband--weapons or drugs--from car trunks. Of course, those scenes usually don't take place in broad daylight in a church parking lot.

The treasure trove of accessories made my heart race, but I was trying to be good. Moderate my hat addiction.

This hat, the biggest, showiest one, immediately caught my eye. I have a particular fondness for small vintage hats, but every once in a while I go for a bigger statement. 

"Are you sure you want to part with it?" I asked, picking it up.

"I'm sure," she said. She'd asked if I would be interested in adding to my collection, because she was trimming down hers. In fact, she mentioned that some of the hats had been passed on to her by another church member, and since she was short on storage room, she'd like to pass them along to someone who could appreciate them.

I looked into the Hefty bag. Most of the hats were cloth hats similar to ones I already owned. However, I did take one more, an orangish brown velvet cap accentuated with buttons. It was an unassuming hat, but in a color different from any I had. I thought it might go with an orange paisley vintage coat I have. 

"That one? Are you sure?" Linda asked.

"I'm sure," I said.

"No others? No scarves?" She sounded disappointed that I hadn't taken more off her hands. In fact, I have so many scarves already that I tried not to look to closely at what she had, in case I was tempted. Until recently, I lived in a cooler climate where scarves were much more useful. Without cool evenings or much of a winter to speak of, I find myself thinking wistfully of the scarves and jackets I seldom get to wear.  Still, I felt like I exercised heroic restraint.

At home, I put this hat on a shelf (I have no hatbox room for a hat this large). I tried the other hat on, and I immediately understood Linda's doubtful tone when I'd chosen it. The color looked terrible on me. No wonder I didn't have any other hats that hue! It didn't even match the coat I thought it might.  So I did something I rarely do: I donated it.  Yes, I actually let a hat leave my possession. Making it easier was the fact that it wasn't a vintage or handmade hat. Hopefully, another woman with a different skin tone found the hat and fell in love with it. 

Donating that hat made me feel like less of a hat addict. I can quit anytime!

​I'm grateful to Linda for passing this hat along to me. When I wore it to church, she happened to sit down next to me. "Nice hat," she said.

"Thanks, it's one you gave me," I answered. 

She looked pleased. She'd given me the gift of the hat, and I felt like I'd given her a little gift by wearing it and enjoying it. 

A closer look at the hat

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