What’s in a Hat?

 He’s fit, nearly 6 foot, but in a bar in the north without any country vibe he’s in a cowboy hat. 

There is a sense of vulnerability to the bravado. His jaw line catches looks. He’s got kind eyes. 

Yet that damn hat. It’s a lot to process. 

He waits as if the magic hat will fix the anxiety, the lack of ability to make the first move. 

He seems kind, interested in your story. 

But that damned hat. 

It screams the opposite of what he thinks it does. In this moment. In this place. It’s not the badge he thinks it is. 

Time and place. Audience. Moment. It all matters. 

Turn and time again ladies would engage and talk for a bit and then seemingly unknowingly, look at the hat one more time before they disengaged. 

He closed his tab. Walks out. Trusting the hat. Had he just trusted those eyes, that jawline, himself…it would have been different. 

Maybe he wanted the indifference. The caution. Maybe if you can’t love the hat you can’t love him. 

But that’s a lot of weight to put on a hat.