My ex-husband used to tell me that I had a big head. He meant it literally… that I physically had a large noggin. And, as a result, he told me that I should never wear hats. As with most things, I did as he instructed.
One year post-divorce, one of my friends gave me a sock hat. I kindly explained that couldn’t accept his gracious gift due to the fact that I have a big head and, therefore, should not wear hats. He burst out laughing.
What?! I asked, defensively.
You don’t have a big head! He said, chuckling.
Yes, I do!
No, you don’t! He insisted.
I’ve come a long way with my “big head” complex. I own a Colts hat that I’ll occasionally wear, but I admittedly feel conspicuous in it.
I’ve always said that when I’m old, I’ll wear a hat to church. I’m not sure what age is considered “old,” but I’m not there yet.
I saw a play at the IRT a few months ago called Crowns, which was all about hats. They claimed that you have to have a certain “hattitude” in order to pull off a hat.
Perhaps it isn’t an age issue at all for me. Maybe “hattitude” is what I’m lacking.