Rant or Rave?: The Adventures of a Floppy Hat

Hi all! I'm currently in Macinac Island, in Michigan. We've spent 2 days here; soon, we're going to be departing for the RV segment of the journey. (We'll get back to that in another post. I promise.)

There are 8 people in my family: me, my parents, my 11-year-old brother (let's call him Guinea Pig 1), my 7-year-old sister (GP2), my grandparents (Nana and Bear), and my mom's brother, Uncle Sport (that's actually what we call him). I've promised my dear friend MAROLINE STILLINGHAM that I'll keep a journal, and I've been making good on my promise. Perhaps I'll share a few choice moments of our trip when I return.

Back to the floppy hat story.

Yesterday, I was poking around town with Nana, and found a hat. It's a fabulous hat. It's floppy, and has a black-and-white ribbon/scarf attached to it. I bought the hat.

Now, I'm not really a hat person. My mom's a hat person. My grandmother's a hat person. Me? I define myself in other ways. For example, I'm a chocolate-croissant person. I'm a person who blogs. I'm a high-heels person. I am not a hat person, and I am not a people person. But I bought that hat. (It was on sale, and I am a bargain-person. In fact, I believe my hat was under $6-- a steal.)

Yesterday evening, I wore my hat. With my dark dress and my straw hat and my bedazzled sandals, I was a vision of loveliness. I strutted around those car-free streets of this island like the vision I was, confident in my belief that I was one of the best-dressed people in Mackinac (pronounced Mack-ih-naw). My family assured me that I looked fabulous. Audrey Hepburn was mentioned. I was delirious with pride.

As I got dressed this morning, I centered my outfit around my hat. (Since I know you were wondering: pink t-shirt, black capris, and [different] pink bedazzled sandals). When I learned that we'd be biking around the island, I clutched my hat in horror and declared that I would not be wearing a helmet.

We biked. I kept my hat on, and felt the wind on my back, and thought that Audrey Hepburn had nothing on me. (Did her hat have a black-and-white scarf attached to it? I think NOT.) When we had gone around the island (8.2 miles. NBD. I'm kinda a champion biker) we returned the bikes, and went to a few tourist-y shops.

When GP2, my 7-year-old sister, strode out of one of those shops, I gasped in horror. There was an absolute monstrosity on top of her head. It had blue stripes, and an aqua ribbon. It was straw, and, while not as floppy as mine, fell down low on her face. It was horrific. I glanced at my mother.

"Oh, GP2!" she cried. "You look fabulous! Emma, let me take a picture of you and your sister. You two look so adorable together."

You look fabulous? That's what they had said to me. I stared at my mother, searching her face for a glimmer of amusement. I couldn't detect one. She honestly thought that GP2 looked adorable.

Just like she honestly thought that I looked adorable.

As my mind raced to comprehend all this, I remembered Vietnam. You see, several years ago my family went to Vietnam, and my mother bought us all rice-farmers' triangular hats (you know the kind). And they wore them. On the plane ride home, my father, GP1, GP2, and I all refused to wear our hats, and, since we didn't have room for them in our luggage, my mother stacked them all on her head and wore them proudly.

And so, outside of the shop, my mother gesturing for me to stand next to GP2 so she could get a picture of us with our hats, I realized something very important.

My family has lost all credibility when it comes to hats.

I took off my floppy hat, chagrined. I am not Audrey Hepburn, and I am not a hat person.

Later this evening, as we were in the hotel room getting ready for dinner, my mother asked me if I was going to wear my hat. I said no. She asked if she could wear it. I shrugged, and said she was welcome to if she wanted. She put it on, and asked how she looked. I examined her carefully. I thought she looked okay, but I wasn't sure. How does she know she's a hat person, anyway? Why is my mother so confident about her choice of headgear?

"You look good", I said. At dinner, she and GP2 wore hats: my mother wore mine, and GP2 wore a different sparkly silver page-boy cap. At the time I thought they looked ridiculous, but now, sitting in the hotel room and pondering what exactly makes a hat person, I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll try my hat again tomorrow.