The Wonderful Hat

It is day three of the Great Mosquito War, and I am beginning to have wistful thoughts of office jobs. Climate control, cushy chairs, solitaire on the computer, cheerful, companionable coworkers...

Instead, I am sent to the far reaches of the farthest field to plant kale.

Kelly produces several mosquito-netting hats today, though why she waited until Day Three remains unknown. You know the type—the really dorky looking hat with netting hanging down and metal hoops sewn in to hold the netting away from your face. I have never seen anything so beautiful. I gleefully pull it over my head and walk out to the field, smugly watching the little blighters buzz around my head, unable to get at me. This is the best invention ever, I think. I can’t believe I’ve never used one before. I can’t believe I have never bought one of these. It’s really quite attractive. This is going to change my whole life. Nothing will ever bother me again. I even go so far as to tell Jeff that I am “really digging this hat.”

I get out to the field and crouch down to plant, still reveling in my mosquito-free microclimate. I hear a whine near my ear but ignore it. Can’t find my blood, eh? Heh heh…ow! One is IN my hat! I stand and take the hat off. There are no less than three buzzing around inside the netting. I swiftly kill them, splattering blood—hey, MY blood!—on the hat. I take a step back and examine my still wonderful buy misguided hat. I realize that the netting, which falls in fetching folds about my shoulders as I walk, swings forward to create a large gap under my chin when I lean forward. I pull it back on, this time tucking the excess netting into the front of my shirt. I go happily about my work, pleased that I have found a way to make the perfect hat even better.

Within two minutes my hat is off to the mosquitoes again. The only thing I can think is that they must be on my head already when I put the hat on. I shake my head and wave my hands crazily, as if giving the fields around me some sort of odd dancing blessing, and drag the hat back on, tucking it in securely all the way around my neck. That’s it, you just have to be firm with it, and the hat will work fine. It’s just a bit willful. I am walking back to get more seedlings when I see another one, trying frantically to get out of the netting, which I find ironic. I don’t want you in here either, sucker. Squish. Repeat yanking on hat and tucking in firmly. It has now become that damn hat. I get back to the field and bend down. Two more, buzzing in my ear. I tear the damn stupid thing off and throw it to the ground, stopping short of stomping on it since it is not mine.

I pop my collar, buttoning it all the way up. Some things you just have to endure the old-fashioned way.