The fat cat in the hat?


I’ve been thinking about hats. We’re officially a week into summer and I am already feeling the soles of my keds cling to the pavement when I leave the house. The dachshies have to be flipped over on the deck periodically to ensure that they bake evenly. It’s hot and I am pale. Yes, pale.  To quote Woody Allen, I don’t burn, I stroke. So a hat would be a fabulous thing- then maybe I could stop running crouched over from  structure to structure like I fear assassins or paparazzi.  

This presents a conundrum. What do people with pretensions toward style, but no actual occasions wear on their heads?  Lets cross out the cowboy hat- I can’t pull this one off.

Nor can I work a baseball cap- my husband just shakes his head when I attempt it.

So what to do, what to do?

Sew something of course.  An excellent plan. There are some great hat patterns out there- I even have one.

A little dated mayhaps?  With a fabric updating and a bunch of fat quarters can I pull this off or will the result  be……….Blossom  Time???

Well, here we are- I know I said sunshade, but as usual the lure of pretending that I am at an intimate dinner with Noel Coward is too much- I have cloche’d it:

On the whole, I am pleased- it’s taller than I had hoped for, but I got to use some of my fat quarter stash and I will take it out for a prance later.

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