The small boy planted his feet firmly in font of me.
“Auntie Kate, I need my Woody hat. I’m not going for a walk without my Woody hat.”
Gulp.
A lot has changed in my house since the Summer remodelling.We no longer have a bottomless toybox in the sitting room for my small nephew, Al. He was the only one who ever played with the toys inside, though he always did a thorough job, and we figured, well, when Al comes we can bring a few toys down from the top floor.
Accordingly, yesterday,when Al came for the day, we brought down the huge box of Lego and other sundry items.
But the Woody hat – a small battered brown cowboy hat- was not among them. And I very much suspected, in the heart of my boots, that we had taken it to the tip and thrown it away.
I stared at the little boy with the same sinking feeling the flop acts at the Glasgow Empire must have had, seconds before they were dragged off the stage with a joke-large hook.
And I thought on my feet.
“Let’s have a look under the stairs,” I suggested brightly, and dived into the unlit shadowy maelstrom of coats and bags and hats and general undisciplined belongings.
I found the hats-and-gloves box. “You look through that,” I directed him.
Al appraised the box critically. There was clearly not a single cowboy hat in there. A cowboy hat would have stood out amongst all the beanies, because it would have had a rim.
It was pure madness to search it. But crossing Auntie Kate is not a thing we do: so he crouched down obediently, and went through the pantomime of rummaging through all the patently-not-cowboy-hats, on my account. Sighing gustily.
And then I saw it. Lurking on a shelf in the shadows.
Whilst not a cowboy hat, it could be called an extended fedora. It is white; I bought it last Summer, and it has been with me to New York and back.
“Al…..” I said, waving the would-be-cowboy-hat around, “will this do?”
He looked at it. For a moment, his face lit up with beatific acquiescence; a huge wide grin; and then second thoughts elbowed them of the way, like women of a certain age at a Womens Institute cake sale.
“No. Cowboy hats are brown. Like Woody’s hat.”
I took a deep breath. I picked the most unattractive beanie I could find. I held it in one hand, and the fedora in the other.
“Al, the Woody hat is gone. You have a choice. This, (gesturing to the beanie) or this.”
Al looked in horror at the beanie. No cowboy in the history of cowboy films had ever worn such a monstrosity.
The fedora suddenly acquired cowboyness.
“I’ll take it!” he said with a flourish, and in a flash the fedora was on his head. The rest of the children breathed out, and put on their wellies; and my son grabbed a towel which became the scarf of a dastardly outlaw.
And the cowboy chased the outlaw all round the forest.
Kate Shrewsday 
PHEW! For a moment or two there I thouht Aunt Kate had lost her glamour as well as the hat!
My glamour wears thin, Sidey…..
but comes back in full force when inspiration comes to the rescue
Perfick!
🙂
Meltdown averted! And search for a more suitable Woody substitute will begin? 🙂
In all probability, Col 🙂
A white hat for the “good guy” . . . with the beatific grin! And a “gold star” for Aunt Kate for “marshaling” the situation in the right direction.
Thanks, Nancy. *Pins star on lapel*
Auntie Kate is renowned for her powers of quiet persuasion, correct? Love it when Big Al comes to town. YeeHa!
Indeed. Powers of persuasion, though not always quiet.
Now you just need to scrounge up some chaps and spurs, and you’ll secure your title of Best Auntie forever!
To E bay, with all haste!
🙂
I felt the tone of that question, which has left me in no doubt that messing with Auntie Kate would be a very bad thing:)
Yes: I could not include the fact that I used the Paddington Hard Stare, which does make all the difference during negotiations.
You might just be the best Aunt a cowboy ever had 😉
😀 Beans for tea, Hope.
So glad you didn’t offer to dye the fedora! Loved this story – love cowboys!
I know lamentably little about them, Tammy….must do my homework..
Quick thinking, Kate, and a wise concession by Big Al.
Thanks, Judy. Al has his wise moments.
What a smart little cowboy 🙂
Hi Madhu! He thought so 🙂
Mac sent me a message: “If Al is looking for a pony, let’s volunteer one of the cats.”
You really do have a hotline to Mac, Virginia, don’t you?
Aren’t you the quick thinker. But then, I’ve been so steeped in the American West all my life, it’s hard for me to picture anything other than a cowboy hat when someone says cowboy hat.
For Al, too, PT. That compromise was a tough one to make.
WordPress ate my comment.
Perfect solution, Auntie Kate. He was good to go along with it. Many kids wouldn’t.
I have another identical comment by AndraWatkinsAndraWatkins 🙂
It was the only hat with a rim, and it was a long shot: but imagination can bridge the gap.
I love a fedora. Brilliant thinking, Kate. Now you have a hat with a history that’ll make you smile each time your don it.
Hi Barb! It is a little battered but perfectly useable. Now I just need me some spurs.
You can inform Al that mine is black! 😉
“For a moment, his face lit up with beatific acquiescence; a huge wide grin; and then second thoughts elbowed them of the way, like women of a certain age at a Womens Institute cake sale.” oh, how you make me smile, Kate. It is good to have a bit of Big Al to read about again, as well.
Oh that held-breath moment when one of his age will either come ’round or set up a proper holler. Not that I know it well…