All this talk about living in the most miserable city in the country, crappy Michigan winters, and wanting to spend the month of February in Phoenix, made me think about how silly it all is really. So to help get you through these last few (stinking) weeks of winter, I'm giving you a good laugh at my expense.
I call it:
Squashing the ‘Do (An Essay about My Aversion to Hats)
I grew up in Michigan, so I "know" cold. I know that if you walk outside at 5 am with wet hair in the middle of December, your hair will freeze and turn into stringy icicles. (I learned this after attending early morning seminary while in high school.) I know all the facts about how the majority of body heat escapes the body through the (uncovered) head. I “know” all of these things. However, I was also a "big hair-ed" teenage girl in the eighties (you'll have to pay a small fee for pics) and wearing a hat just wasn't something I was going to do. In high school, for some reason you are immune to the cold. It’s amazing really. There must be something in those hormones swimming around your body during puberty that allow your body temperature to be unaffected by the cold, thus causing you to think that wearing shorts and sandals to school in January is a good idea, and that standing at the bus stop with no coat on at 7 in the morning is no big deal. I wasn’t as crazy as some, and actually owned and wore a coat, but that was about it. And it had to be basic. None of this puffy stuff or even bright colors would do. Black or gray or navy wool was all I was willing to do in defense of my stubborn vanity.
I continued my stubborn ways into college. (Why didn’t I take my big hair to Florida or someplace warmer?) Instead I took it to REXBURG (hello!) and proceeded to stubbornly avoid the hat which would totally cramp my style (i.e. leave me with flat hair). Ultimately, I ran from class to class and back to my dorm and tried very hard to “get by” with hoods and cute scarves, even though I was freezing and thought it would have been the end of the world to ruin my perfectly coifed do when in actuality nobody could have cared less how my hair looked!
Then it was onto the mission field--Prague, CZ (even colder). The list for sister missionaries included “modest blouses, conservative suits, and flats”. It should have said, “army fatigues, sweatpants (for under your dresses), and fur-lined boots up to your chin”. I relented to packing an old pair of Mom’s boots. They were plastic (seriously) on the outside, blue and green “duck” boots. They’d look great with my missionary attire…yeah right! I packed my coat with the big hood (from Rexburg), a cute scarf and glove set and called it good. But no hat. I remember my first winter in the field, crazy Babichka's would come running towards me with hats in their outstretched hands ready to pounce on my uncovered head. Eventually I caved and wore the hat more out of self defense than for warmth reasons. My hair was certainly going to pay for this.
The hat was a maroon, slightly “raspberry” colored beret given to me by a fellow sister missionary (…I know, don’t laugh! I’ve never even been a Prince fan!) It was free and still kinda cute without totally squashing my ‘do. As far as the duck boots go, I realized pretty quickly that they weren’t really realistic (they were plastic, remember?) and I mailed them back home. Why did I pay all that shipping for old duck boots? I should have just given them to some poor old Babichka, but unfortunately they were so obviously American I doubt she would have actually worn them anyway. I settled on a pair of ankle-high brown leather, fur-lined boots. I just couldn’t bring myself to wear the knee-high black boots the natives were wearing. Needless to say, all sense of fashion (or dignity) flew out the window in defense of warmth. I can honestly say the warmth factor was becoming more valuable and I began to appreciate the difference that covering my head and keeping my feet warm made, especially after hours of trudging through snow, ice and yucky, wet muck. I began to re-evaluate my ideas of “cuteness” and rely on simple practicality. I was a missionary and in a foreign country. Who was going to see me? I learned to let go and embrace the slightly dorky do that my hair sustained from yanking my hat on and off all day long. I guess I sacrificed my will if you will. You’d think that whatever good habits and lessons a missionary learns while serving lasts them throughout their life, right? Well I’d like to say that’s true, but with this whole hat debacle, it’s sadly not.
When I got home I first returned to the arctic tundras of Rexburg and then continued my education in the high mountain altitudes of Cache Valley. I ditched the mission coat, boots and hat, trading in my newly acquired sensibility for vanity once again. I found a cute brown coat with plaid flannel lining from the “Northern Exposure” store in Laurel Park. It had a warm hood, so I reasoned that I wouldn’t really need a hat anymore anyway. Ever a sucker for cute scarf/glove sets I bought one of those too, probably in crème or brown. That coat lasted me for awhile. I remember wearing it with the top buttons only snapped shut while my pregnant belly stuck out exposed to the elements. If they say the majority of heat escapes through your head, then I dread to think how much escapes an exposed pregnant belly! After that winter, I finally retired the brown coat and I really didn’t know what size I was for awhile. And because we were so stinking poor, I think I endured one winter in Boise with just a fleece jacket since I rarely left the house anyway. No coat, no hat, no cute matching set.
Now I’m living the frazzled working Mom life. My black wool coat has no hood to rely on. And I. am. freezing! But I have to have cute work hair, so I’ve been thinking and amusing myself and my stupid defiance of hats and looking too “bundled up”, thus the essay you’re reading (enduring) right now. I found a cute white hat/glove/scarf set at Target last winter in an after-Christmas sale and have been wearing it this winter…at least the scarf and gloves, it came with a hat too. I guess I’m still not sold on the hat thing. Where’s the crazy Babichka’s when I need them?
For those of you who want to get in on the inside joke about Maria Lion, here goes: When I was about 5 or 6, I was really into knock-knock jokes. I thought they were hilarious. Mostly because my brothers thought they were hilarious, and I (in classic little sister style) was always trying to impress them and make them laugh. Ryan would come up with great ones like “knock, knock…who’s there?...boo…boo, who?...it’s just a joke, you don’t have to cry about it!!” I was amazed at his skillz, so I took a gander in my own way. I came up with this:
