I'm no garden-variety L.A. idjit.

Born and raised in Chicago, she of the fickle weather, I learned the value of layers early on. And, when traveling between October and July, of bringing an umbrella. But a hat?

Who the hell brings a hat four days before May? Even to Chicago? Especially when one has an especially large head that looks profoundly ridiculous in hats?

It was in the high 40s today, and that was the high. So I walked and I walked and I stopped in every damned store that was a likely bet, looking for something other than a sun bonnet. Something that would keep the heat in my head.

When I finally found one, in a running store, of all places, for $32, I was a mile from my destination. $32. For a hat that matches nothing I'm wearing on this trip, and that upon my return to Los Angeles will most likely linger in my "winter" shoebox until I give up and hand it off to my friend, Lily, who looks good in all hats, damn her.

$32. To look ugly until the the weather turns.

I snapped the purple "no complaining!" wristband my friend (and frequent commentributrix) Mary Ellen gave me at lunch once against my wrist. And smiled. And thought of my wonderful chats with Mary Ellen and Heidi, and the wonderful soup that I would heat up in my wonderful midweek bachelorette crash pad, on loan courtesy of my wonderful friend, The Overly Talented Account Guy. And then I gave them my credit card, snipped the tags from my brand new $32 hat, and set off for the last leg of my day's journey at least partly dry and vastly warmer.

Stop complaining. Buy the damned hat. You'll catch a cold if you don't, anyway, and then where will you be?

Stop. Before something else does the stopping for you.

xxx c

(I wrote this last night, the 28th, and hit "save" instead of "publish." Did I mention somewhere the importance of getting enough rest? Yeah.)

Image by benncapon via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.