I’ve been in denial for the past month as morning after morning became colder and colder, but the hard white frost on our road yesterday morning finally killed my optimism (along, possibly, with some of our plants – my knowledge of botany is somewhat sketchy).
From thousands of miles away I can actually hear Laughykate smirking as I admit it – it’s winter. Worse than that, I’ve had to de-hibernate my most loathed item of clothing – my sock hat.
I don’t know if that’s what it’s really called, since my knowledge of millinery makes my knowledge of botany look Einsteinish, but you all know what I mean – that strange wool concoction that makes you look as if you have no ears and no forehead. When we were kids my brother and I called them “Benny-from-Crossroads Hats”, since that character from that TV show was the only person we knew who wore one. Perhaps that explains my revulsion, since if you were a wannabe then Benny from Crossroads was not who you’d want to be. For those of you too young to remember (i.e., all of you) Benny was, er, a simple soul (think Rainman, but without the sudden flashes of genius), and the idea of looking anything like him would not appeal to any child, since it could lead to an outbreak of schoolyard humour, and a child can suffer no greater affliction.
For years I’ve kept my head warm with, well, my hair, since otherwise what is it for. Over time, though, my hair has dwindled like our economy and global warming has made our winters colder (nah, me neither), and the savagery of last winter finally forced me into one of those Great Outdoors shops which seem to stock only raingear and warm clothing, hinting perhaps that life in the Great Outdoors is not really all that great. Since then I’ve swallowed my pride and worn my hat, although to be honest I’d rather have swallowed the hat.
It has a small label on its outside which says “Thinsulate Insulation” and therein lies the nub of todays’ post, since yet again I have found proof that I am seriously mental. This morning at 6.40 at the bus stop, in almost total darkness, I found myself trying to use the plastic bus shelter as a mirror, making sure that the “Thinsulate” label was right in the middle at the front.
Because although I’m wearing what is essentially a woolly head-condom, something that makes me look like R2D2 (and when you’re as short as I am, you’ve trouble not looking like R2D2 at the best of times), apparently my subconscious believes that the really important thing is that the label not be off to the side, or at the back.
Because then I’d look like an idiot.