oharaville

For approximately four months, I have wanted to possess and thus wear a funky hat.  For some unexplainable reason, many new friends from ReImagine seem to be fond of the funky hat wearing tradition, which drew my initial curiosity - you know, conform in the interest of flying the flag of funkitude.

Well yesterday I finally had my chance.  Needing to return some gift merchandise that did not fit, I found myself with a little liquidity burning a hole in my proverbial pocket, and I immediately went shopping in the funky section of the male accessories department.  Now in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that my wife was not initially fond of the idea.  And in the interest of continued full disclosure, I should also say at this point that she remains steadfast in her disdain for the hat of funk.

The truth is, the hat is an emblem: a symbol of my fierce grip on a shred of individuality in the stormy sea of matrimonial compromise.  I don’t wear it to spite my beloved… although it is admittedly fun to playfully push her buttons in this harmless way.  One must know at which point to yield and at which point to hold one’s own.  And when it comes to funky head wear, I hold my own.  I’m so grateful that my wife continues to love my hat-wearing head, and I may remove it if at some point in the future it becomes apparent that the hat is driving a wedge in our budding relationship.  Uh-oh, here she comes.  Better take it off.