Actual Hat Post

Because the universe just keeps on having a great sense of humour and nobody appreciates it, today Hatboy’s Hatstand is proud to present a blog post actually about hats for once. And it’s nothing to do with me, but rather Mrs. Hatboy.

My talented and slightly crazy wife has gone into business upcycling hats.

A while ago, she began collecting hats from the local recycling centre, and collecting assorted decorations and vintage buttons from people selling them online. Then things escalated when she invited a lovely quadruple amputee named Mabel to come and live with us as a hatmaker’s model.

Mabel now lives in the attic, where presumably she spends her days between photoshoots looking after the reject children I’ve told Wump and Toop live up there.

“Orange Octopus” can be yours for the modest sum of €40.

This is about a week early but makes good practice for our anniversary speech: I am constantly amazed and proud of the just absolute madness and creativity that is encapsulated in such an adorable little package. In between the hats, she is also making an approximately one-quintillion-stitch cross-stitch of Khal Drogo, working as a beloved and invaluable educator for special needs kids, carrying the entire village of Sotunki kicking and screaming into the 21st Century, and wrangling two impossibly goony daughters and a massive hairy misery-guts of a husband from one crisis to the next with all the skill and tenacity of a circus lion-tamer.

Buy a hat, then doff it in absolute respect.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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