Meet Sam

That is Sam the hat. He's made of salame felt with black leather trim and a silver airplane. Now I don't give names to my hats or to any other item of clothing in my closet, cedar chest, hanging on my bed post or reclining on a chair. Gosh, if I gave them monikers, I'd feel like I'd have a family. I'd think "Gloria's sulking in the corner. I better hang her up" and "Oh dear, Pascal really needs to be cleaned. Into the wash she goes." I'd probably take better care of my clothes if they were properly christened. I'd probably have fewer clothes too. Who wants the responsibility of remembering all the given names of the dresses, skirts, blouses and coats stuffed into your wardrobe? It'd would be worst than the most overcrowded classroom in the Chicago Public School system. Ugh! I have a hard enough time recalling all the appellations for my brother's six children, whose sobriquets begin with the letter J. Whenever I see my nephews I frequently say: "Oh hi John, I mean James, I mean Joe." They probably have a complex and really believe their proper titles are "I mean Joe." If someone were yell "I mean Jason" that child might stand up. I would hope they're not that literal, but you never know. Quite honestly, if I were to label any inanimate object in my life it would be an automobile. And I choose not to own a vehicle. It's just not practical in the city. At least for me. And the shared-vehicle I do use sometimes is known as "I don't like to drive Elements." So there.
As for Sam the hat, I believe Sam is short for Samantha because I'd wear this topper in a heartbeat even though it's intended for a guy. I especially like the little plane because just about any mechanical gadget that can fly intrigues me. This hat would be the thing to wear while waiting in security-check line at the airport. What do you think?