"Do you like my hat?" "No. I do not." "Good-bye." "Good-bye!"

A year ago, I went to Manhattan for the first time. I liked it there, once I relaxed and stopped asking myself, "why are all these people here?" It was cold. I wore a hat, gloves and a coat while outside.

One day, my friend and I were walking up 5th Avenue, and we passed someone famous. I kept my awareness of him a secret til he was a safe distance away, then I told my friend, "Ah! That's who it was! I just saw the blonde guy from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy!" It had taken a moment to place him, but I recognized him by his profession first, because of the look on his face, now and forever etched into my memory, as he observed my hat, looking askance, absorbed in it. Either he loved my hat, or he did not like that hat.

I decided that if in about a year, everyone was wearing a hat like I had on that day, it would figure he'd loved my hat. I do not see blue barets abounding. I do not think he liked my hat.