Don't I Look Like Myself?

By the time that the Master Hatter had finished describing the weirdness of Leo, I had already decided that I wanted the hat.

I didn't want Leo's hat or Howard's hat. I didn't even want Doc Zilla's hat anymore. I wanted MY hat and the hat that the Hatter put on my head with the darker band was exactly that hat. The deal was almost done.

The price tag was next and it was hefty.

We entered the area between stiumulus and response.

That time of final objection which comes before the moment of acceptance or rejection.

Lynn, who is all about maintenance, found her voice.

"Well it's a nice hat but a very expensive hat. I'm concerned about the care of the hat. How will it stand up to water?. What if the hat loses its shape? If he gets caught in the rain, can he bring the hat back to you for reshaping. Will rain ruin this hat? Can he wear it in a rainstorm?"

The whole deal was up in the air with the machine gun of those questions.

I was worried.

I should have had more confidence in Brown.

He looked Lynn straight in the eye and said, "Mrs. Rivers, the hat is made of beaver and beavers are pretty good with water."

Bam the first volley returned

"And remember," the Hatter continued, "When it begins to rain, that's not the time a man takes OFF his hat. That's the time he puts it ON. He'll be wearing this hat for the rest of his life so if you divide cost by years, this hat is a bargain."

Game, set, match.

We ordered my hat.

I've worn it ever since.

I don't wear it everywhere. I only wear it on those occasions when I want to look exactly like myself.

One of those times occurred a couple of months ago when I was invited to a beer tasting event put on by the alumni foundation of one of my colleges.

At this event, I noticed someone at the bar. I couldn't take my eyes off this guy. Everytime I looked at him, he was looking somewhere else. When I find myself in that situation, I'm pretty sure that the person looks back at those moments when I'm not looking.

Finally, I went to Lynn.

"See that guy sitting at the bar? Is that Beau?"

Beau is my son from my first marriage. I hadn't seen him nor spoke to hime in almost twenty years.

Lynn said she thought it was Beau.

I tried to figure out what I would say to him of if I should even say anything after so much pain. I decided I would say something. I didn't know what. I figured the words would come when I got there. I headed over in his direction.

He was gone.

I don't know if he saw me or not but if he did, he saw me looking like myself.