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Handsome Lady With a Hat

Handsome Lady With a Hat

Back in Spring of this year, I purchased a man’s black hat, something your grandfather would wear: a cotton/polyester blend with the narrow brim upturned in the back. Actually come to think of it, my sombrero resembles the hat Pinocchio wears in the Disney movie—minus the little feather. Yeah those Oktoberfest hats—you know the ones.  There’s a little splash of gangster in it with Cantinflas fun. But I’ve always been fond of hats because my father often wore chapeaux. Like father, like daddy’s little butch sidekick.

And most times when I wear this hat, people are complimentary.  Usually the response is: “I like your hat,” which is more than I can ask for because there are the other times when people shout: “Show me your boobs!”

A few weeks back, I was driving out of the Santa Monica Main library parking structure and the Latina woman in the incubator booth said: “Your hat looks good on you. Some people wear hats and it’s not so good. But it looks good on you because of you.”  I smiled at this mujer who resembled my Tia Cuca, thanked her and wondered—is she flirting with me or does she want one of my kidneys? As I handed her the money she reiterated: “It really looks good on you. It’s nice.”  I thanked her again, driving away covering my breasts. But I will admit, I did fantasize about free parking.

The other day as I was walking into BIG LOTS!, a small elderly lady with a delicate frame, pushing a full shopping cart, her head barely peeking over her new wares, told me with a cute smile: “Handsome lady with a hat.”  She ended her statement with a nod of her turban wearing head as if to say, I know what you’re about. I smiled back and replied: “I like what you’re wearing as well.” She nodded again and gave me even a bigger smile. She looked like a character from the David Lynch TV series Twin Peaks—I thought she was going to start doing a little soft shoe dance and then go into the Funky Chicken.

Her respectful praise was very satisfying because she was acknowledging that she understood my motto: I like wearing men’s clothes and I like wearing sexy bras.

She knew I was a lesbian and her awareness was empowering. I wanted to lift her up and place her inside the band of my hat, proudly wearing her like the fancy feather that she is.

Her liberating remark truly validated my existence and I had to thank her so I turned around and shouted to her as she was now across the parking lot: “Thank you.”

She looked up, smiled and shouted: “Show me your boobs!” 

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