Doing something unexpected? Might be the 'hat effect'

Talk about it

A man told me today that I look 10 years younger. At my age, that means a great deal.

I think his judgment was affected by the hat I was wearing.

On a very cold day in November, I bought a white hat with earflaps. It’s made of fake fur so I can wash it, but it looks like real fur.

It’s very warm and toasty even on the coldest days.

But I couldn’t have predicted the effect my hat had on some people. Wherever I go, people call out to me: “I love your hat.”

Yesterday, while paying for gas, a young man of about 17 years, stared at me while he processed my debit card. “Can I help you?” I said as he held my card in his hand without extending it so I could easily take it.

“Can I touch your hat,” he said.

“Of course,” I said, smiling.

One woman took hold of my hand and complimented me on my hat. “It’s just like the one I wore when I was a little girl,” she said.

Others have told me about similar hats they wore as children. It seems my hat brings back pleasant memories because they smiled when they told me stories of making snowmen and going sledding.

I’m feeling quite lovely when I wear my hat.

While walking to our mailbox on a cold windy afternoon, I daydreamed that I was in northern Sweden, the land of ancestors on my mother’s side. I was cross-country skiing. My white hat looked splendid as I skied through a stand of pine trees.

Then, I was a Russian Czarina. I was wearing a white ermine fur coat over white leather boots that went up to my knees. My sleigh was pulled by a pair of dashing white horses that pulled me through snowy woods. Of course, I was wearing my hat.

I have wanted an electric smoker for some time. Friend Ruth remembered I had mentioned it once and gave me one for Christmas. I love to smoke meat, chicken and salmon.

“It’s funny that Ruth should remember I once talked about wanting a smoker,” I said to daughter Margie.

“It’s the ‘hat effect,’ mom,” she said.

“You’ve been doing odd things lately,” she went on. “Remember when we were in St. Paul last week? You insisted we drive across town to Cecil’s Delicatessen.”

“What’s so odd about that?” I asked.

“You bought fat-laden corned beef and pastrami,” she said. “I haven’t seen you deliberately buy fat in a year. Then, you wanted to go to the bookstore at 10 p.m. last Saturday. I’ve never known you to do that, on the spur of the moment, too.”

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s the hat.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to go out for ice cream,” she said.

“I’ll get my hat,” I said.