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The Free Directory of Independent Writers and Artists

Monday, January 30, 2006

The first time I wore my purple hat I felt beautiful, naughty, sassy and smart. I found it in a vintage store. One of those stores in Kensington Market. It was in a basket of other hats all jumbled about. It didn't look spectacular. It had purple velvet cloth over a pillbox like top and a brim. "Put this on," my friend ordered as she handed the hat to me.
"Well, I don't know. I don't really need a hat. What do I need a hat for?" I was very practical then.
"Just put it on. I think it would look pretty on you."
"OK." I put it on. The shock of seeing me in a purple hat startled me. I don't wear hats.
"Your'e right. It doesn't look that good on you," my friend said. She walked away to the jewellery at the glass counter. I saw her point to one of the rings in the glass display case.
Hmm. As I stared at my face I played with the hat placing it in different ways on my head. Then one angle made me stop. I didn't look myself anymore. I was a woman I saw walking down Queen Street. She wasn't particularly beautiful but she held herself in a way that showed she liked herself. When I looked in the mirror at that moment I was that woman.

Comments on ""

 

Blogger Diana said ... (10:03 PM) : 

This is great! So good to see you here, Theresa.

 

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