Day 363: 386 Words About A Hat
Oh snap, it’s the last Thursday that I’ll ever have to beg someone to pick a prompt for me! Err, well, that’s not exactly true, because I love doing this shit. But this is the last time in the project! Hooray! To commemorate this occasion, I asked for a prompt from my Number One fan, my reason for being, the one that drove me to the hospital, my own Mother! She wanted to see 386 words about hats. Which should be easy, because I love hats. However, there was a time when I absolutely hated them. So instead, here’s the story of why I stopped wearing hats as a kid:
It was just another lazy ass Summer morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and Nicole had control of the TV. Which was fine, because I was meeting Zach at the library. I don’t know how it was established that I was meeting Zach at the library. Nor do I understand why we would be out and about, going to the library and shit before noon. I’m not a very reliable narrator to this story, for reasons that will soon be obvious.
I strapped on my favorite Red Wings hat, hopped on my bike and put the pedal to…umm…my foot. Speeding on the sidewalk across the street, there was a nut lime in my line of sight [We always just called the things Nut Limes. I just now looked it up and…they were walnuts.What the hell?!?]. Just sitting there, freshly fallen from a tree, begging to be destroyed by me. I lowered my gaze, picked up speed and then BAM.
Next thing I knew, I was staring at the sky. That Lime Nut had tripped me! What a dick! I shook it off and continued to the library. Hung out with Zach for an hour or so. Read some Madd Magazines. Chuckled. Chortled. Just a normal morning with my cuzz.
To this day, I don’t understand how he didn’t notice.
When I got home, The Price Is Right was just wrapping up. Nicole immediately freaked out. Face as white as a ghost, she asked me why my head was bleeding. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I reached to the back of my head and…it didn’t feel like my head. The second I saw the blood on my hand, the worst pain I had ever felt hit me like a truck. I had a goose egg the size of Utah and it developed around the metal buckle in the back of my hat. It felt like the buckle was embedded in my skull. Taking that hat off felt worse than a million Band-Aids being ripped simultaneously.
So I guess I had a concussion. Because of that, I spent a good decade staying away from hats. Luckily, metal buckles are no longer in style. I say that as a customer walks by, wearing a metal buckle. Whatever. Fuck metal buckles forever.