I've worn hats from time to time over the years, and a few baseball caps. I remember my older sister threatening to "feed a saucer of milk" to a cossack hat I owned.
On my first real vacation in my first real job I traveled along the Wicklow Gap on a bicycle in a deerstalker—and a rainstorm. I'd gone on this cycling holiday in the middle of an Irish Summer—without taking any rain gear. Not that a tweed deerstalker was much use against the downpour I encountered. But we do what we can.
In California I had a brush with skin cancer. Fair Irish skin isn't well suited to all that sunshine. We are more adapted against rust and mold than against sun. So, after the minor cancer was taken care of, I was encouraged to buy, and wear, hats.
That's like someone encouraging me to buy and eat chocolate or buy and use gadgets. Lead on, I say!
Here in the Midwest the need to wear hats remains. There's more weather here than in California, that's for sure. But still a lot of it is sunshine. And, truth be told, there's isn't as much natural covering on the top of my head as there once was.
"Nice straw, babe," said she.
Delivered, I might add, in a warm Midwest drawl.
I thanked her—and smiled the rest of the afternoon.