This Cowgirl's Hat

I know the title brings to mind Chris LeDoux, and like his hat, mine has a bit of a story behind it.

I love my hat.

One night, after a successful day, the other wranglers and I were sitting around, decompressing and having some adult beverages.  We were also feeling a bit flush with tips and thought it would be a good idea to run over to Estes and do some shopping.

We loaded up into the sober wrangler's car and headed north about twenty miles.  One of the wranglers had a store she wanted to check out and it seemed like as good a place as any to spend our money.  I'd been in the market for a hat, as I have an odd-sized head.  It's slightly too big for a kid's size and too small for an adult size hat.  I figured I'd have to buy a straw hat and stretch it, even though they gave me headaches something awful.

Ashinator and I wandered around the store, poking at this and that, until we came to the hat section.  There it was: the perfect hat.  I must have been feeling extra patriotic that day, because I kept going back to the obnoxious monstrosity that someone dared to manufacture.  Eventually, with some encouragement from Ashinator and the other wranglers I plunked down a lot of money for that hat.

The next morning, thinking, "why not?" I got up, got dressed and snugged my new hat down on my head.  It fit perfectly.  For once, I had a hat on my head that wasn't slipping down into my eyes or gripping my noggin like vice grips.  Until I found my hat, I'd only worn ball caps to work.

High Noon like'ta bust a gut when he saw me come out of the bunkhouse in my new hat, "What the hell is on your head?"

"It's my new hat!" I exclaimed, caressing the brim.  "Isn't it obnoxious?" I asked grinning.

"Why?" He asked, still laughing.

"Why not?"

"It's hideous," he pointed out.

"Well," I admitted, "it might have something to do with one or two too many drinks last night."

"We can't tell the guests that, and they will definitely want to know about that hat," he proclaimed.

I shrugged my shoulders, and started pulling the horses we needed for the day, happy to finally own a hat that fit my odd-sized noggin.

The first group of guests arrived for their ride and as we were getting them mounted up, one said, "I love your hat! Where did you get it?"

Before I could even open my mouth, High Noon spoke up from the other side of the horse, "She won that last year.  Wrangler of the Year two years running.  But you can't give a cowgirl a tiara, and the sash is a bit much, so she just wears her hat.  Yessir, you guys are going to be in great hands on your ride, getting to go out with the reigning Wrangler of the Year."

Each time he told about the Wrangler of the Year for the rest of the season, the story got bigger and bigger.

I semi-retired that hat at the end of the season, but still break it out every year for the Fourth of July Parade and for special occasions.

So, while my hat story's not as cool as Chris LeDoux's at least I have one.