Last week I decided I needed to get a hat for the photos for this blog. I have to have a hat, because although Cush has kindly shaved ten years off my age here, anyone with eyes can see photoshop or not, my face looks like the map of Kamativi (on google.)
So, off to the flea-market I go. I love to go there, all the little stalls and the lovely people who man them. I taught my Aspie daughter to speak to shop attendants here because they are so nice.
I can’t find anything until I get to a little booth which sells only hats. Not really my style or price range.
The whole stall is manned by men, and lots of the hats are for men. They ask me what kind of hat I want. I try to go around the point, embarrassed to tell them I have to hide my face for a photo shoot. Eventually I tell them and are they interested in my hat? Oh no. They are interested in my book. What it is about? Are they in it!
I choose two hats, intending to cover my face in the photos (I have a day job) and mostly because I am vain. The guys, sad to loose me I hope, try to get me to buy others, but I cant afford more. They say if I bring back the red one, I can swop it with the black one with the plaid band, and little feather stuck in the side. Don’t you love them…? They say I can do that if they can read my book.

I wonder if they know, I would pay them to read my book!



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