Whither hats?

Spring has come to Sacramento!  And I am, once again, shocked.

I often walk during the lunch hour: to get a sandwich, collect my thoughts, or replace my son's fancy Sees chocolate egg that I (surreptitiously, or so I thought) ate.  (He was not happy.  And, in hindsight, I should've thrown the box out faster.) 

On a warm day like today, I look around at the crowds of people, out getting exercise and enjoying the weather, and feel the urge to ask each one:  You seem to care about yourself, and show no signs of textbook masochism.  So what possible reason can you have for not wearing a hat?

Like all my standards, my beauty standards are strongly influenced by the 1986 John Hughes film, Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  As a hat advocate, I would like to introduce into evidence a recent photo of Mia Sara ("Sloane") in her mid-40s.  (Yes, the hat itself is hideous.)  She looks fantastic, right?  (And her late father-in-law is Jim Henson, so she is just a little cool.) 

My hat kick started several years ago, after my son was born.  Due to the hormonal changes of pregnancy, I developed faint brown blotches on my face.  They mostly faded, but exposure to the sun brought them raring back.  So for purely cosmetic reasons, I started wearing hats everywhere.  Eight years later, my skin is nothing great, but does not look baked like a cupcake in the California sun.  Thanks, hats!

Over the years, I have observed that the only other people wearing hats are elderly Asian women.  Now, every time I see a Chinese grandmother in a wrap-around visor, I want to fist-bump her and say: "I know, right?"

Next up: Driving gloves.