My Head Is Too Big For Hats

Let’s say, just for laughs, that your boiler is busted today.

Here’s a list of stuff you might do while waiting for the repairman/contemplating said repairman’s actual existence:

You may decide that it is colder in your flat than it is outside.  And, not only is the water cold, it also tastes weird, making your coffee, for lack of a better word, funky.

You may then ask your PA, if you have one, to go to Starbucks and get you a latte that’s warm and does not taste funky, at least not to you.  You feel bad, but then you consider that her hair isn’t a mess and she isn’t wearing two sweaters and socks with cocktails and umbrellas on them, to give the illusion of a more tropical climate.  She has heat and hot water in her house and therefore looks more presentable and less scary than you do.  You send her out on this solo coffee mission for the good of humanity.

You might turn on some music.  Maybe bluegrass. Because at least the fiddle is hot.  You may dance around your living room.  For warmth.

You may pick up the phone when your Dad calls and have to explain that no, the boiler will not explode and yes, a repairman (or woman, you don’t care at this point) is on the way.

You may pick up the phone when your mother calls, because at least the gossip is hot.  Or lukewarm.  You might have to explain that no, the boiler will not explode and yes, a repairperson is on the way.

You may type at your computer with weightlifting/driving gloves on, and decide it is actually too cold to think.  You might contemplate wearing a hat.  But your head is too big for hats.  You know this, because you tried one on.  When you were eight.  Your big head isn’t your fault, though.  Both your parents have big heads.

And so, you may go back to bed, and write in a notebook, with a pen.  Under two duvets.  You might end up writing your deepest fears, which at this point include frostbite, and the thought that the illusive repairperson was definitely abducted by aliens.  And you might have missed the phone call from the not-abducted repairperson because you were in your bedroom writing your hand off to keep warm.

If I were you, that’s what I would do.  What would you do?

 

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My feet are not too big for socks!

 

 

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15 thoughts on “My Head Is Too Big For Hats

  1. If an elusive repairman (or woman, I dont care at this point) were coming to fix my heater, I would immediately dig through all of the clothes that were too small, and also the ones that were for my children from my mom. At some point I would find the nose warmer that she crocheted them (and me) for just such a situation. It would have either a bell (oh! just like a reindeer!, says mom. Which reindeer has had a bell on it’s nose? says I) or a tassel. This nose-warmer would have ear loops and usually be two-toned “for festivity”.

    Suddenly, this would be a prized posession.

    1. You are the first person I’ve heard talk about nose-warmers since I made mine at summer sleep-away camp in 1964!! !!

      I do mosaics and concrete art out in a workshop that is part of a huge garage and while I do have heat in my tiny section, sheeted off with plastic (think serial killer), I have been talking about my red nose warmer!

      My husband keeps telling me to tie it to my glasses!

      Oh thank you Gin and Lemonade for being cold! (Hope by now the repair-alien has landed and fixed said boiler!)

  2. Probably embrace my inner Muslim (she is in there) or babushka and wrap my head and shoulders in a big shawl. And maybe try hats again – if someone told me at age 8 that my head was too big for hats I’d assume in retrospect that they were a lying rat bastard. And probably the rest of you has caught up anyway. x

  3. I am begging to differ regarding how you look in hats. In the interest of journalistic fairness, I request that you post the photo I posted on my page last night and allow your readers to decide on your level of cuteness in hats!

    Go-wan, ya know ya want to.
    Dad
    x

  4. I would say: ‘You are so lucky. A person is coming to repair it? Really?’

    My person, a man, just left, sadly mumbling something about a pump or maybe he said he was stumped. I don’t know. Apparently he will be back on Monday, if a part is in stock. He did, however, wish me a nice weekend. Hope he doesn’t need to sit down when he next comes. I will probably have burned all the furniture by then.

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