But at least I have a new hat

First of all, you should know that The Editorial Trophy Wife says I am strictly a ball cap kind of guy. She is certain that I have absolutely no business whatsoever wearing a fez, stetson, fedora, or any other headgear short of a something that covers my ears and keeps my follically challenged head warm in the winter. I, partially because of said folically challenged state, have always appreciated a unique chapeaux.

I am sure you can imagine her chagrin and my delight when I found myself at an estate sale this weekend, standing in front of a closet emblazoned with a sign declaring "Hats 2 for $1". There where seven or so headpieces mustily taking up space inside the closet ranging in style from carnival barker to that Russell guy from survivor. At first nothing caught my eye and I feared I would be leaving with my head continuing to be exposed to the harsh rays of the sun. Then I saw it sitting all alone on the bottom shelf. Not quite a cross between Hank Williams Sr. and Raylan Givens but close enough for me to shell out fifty cents just the same.

Upon seeing my planned acquisition, The Editorial Trophy Wife had the anticipated response and made her way down to the basement of the home continuing her search for further, more useful, bargains. I continued to mill around the upstairs debating my purchase, made up my mind, and then, content with my purchase, finally decided to check out the basement.

It was as I reached the bottom of the basement stairs, hat in hand, that I saw him. He was hastily making his way towards the cashier with a look on his face that can only be described as the look one would sport if one were getting away with something. In his hand was an aged canvas rod bag and protruding from said forlorn bag was what appeared to be the cork handle of a fly rod. As he passed me I spoke to him saying something along the lines of "Found something good eh?" He averted his eyes, mumbled something unintelligible and made a bee line for the door.

My suspicions confirmed, I realized that had I not spent all my time hat shopping I might have been that guy heading for the door with what I imagined to be nothing less than a famous maker bamboo fly rod worth at least two grand. The Trophy Wife, who never fails to point out the obvious, was not totally unsympathetic and even helped me unsuccessfully scour the nooks and crannies of the basement for other fishing treasures.

But at least I have my hat.