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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Back in August, David mailed me the hat I'd left in Toronto and addressed the package to "Kirsten M. Snoose."
Kirsten is my real name. Snoose is not. It became my nickname after I observed to him that Pitbull in the J-Lo song "On the Floor" pronounced "snooze" with an "s" sound. He listened to verify and was subsequently amused. So now I am the Snoose.
Oh, I lost the hat the next day when I left it on the bus or metro. Sadness! I'd just washed it and it was a nice bright blue. It also had a brim big enough for my sun-sensitive head and fit snugly without being too tight.
Then, last week, I was in Ontario again - at my aunt's this time - and I got up early to go to with her to a thrift sale in the nearby town, Henderson.
Guess what I found? An authentic Tilley hat. Ivory colour, great condition, the only mark a scratch under the brim. Priced at $2. My family was suitably impressed; my older cousin thought it had cost about $100 new.
The only thing: it has chin straps that I tuck into it for normal wear. For canoeing in windy lakes, well...
(Well, well, I've also built myself a schedule this term that will preclude much wind-swept canoeing. But one can dream.)
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