I once said that I love men in hats. In fact, I said this:
I love men in hats. Not baseball hats, but real hats, be they fedoras or newsboy caps or even a good top hat and tails. It’s the sign of a true gentleman, along with real shoes (the kind you have to polish), the ability to cover his mouth when coughing, and having the manners to walk you to the door at night, or to your car, or to otherwise ensure that you arrive safely at your destination.
“Be they”? Really, Lisa?
Well, the exception to my general appreciation of hats are those fuzzy hats with ear flaps. Sure, Adam Baldwin pulled it off pretty well, but most men can’t get away with it. I have to come clean and say that I gave my English boy a lot of crap for wearing one because I thought it looked so silly. To borrow some English slang (something else Mraz is doing lately), I took the piss, and the mickey, out of him – but good.
But it looks like Mraz has been enjoying the flaps during his time in England, so I’m rethinking my position. If the hat is ok by Jason Mraz, it should be ok by me, right? And my English boy looks at least as cute in his, if not more so. If I’m really going to adopt the Mraz philosophy of tolerance and acceptance and spiritual mrazturbation, I suppose I’ll have to extend that tolerance even to things that I’m not comfortable with: John Grisham books, desserts that include cherries and/or white chocolate, and fuzzy, flapping hats.
The cosmic fish, they love to kiss,