I went to Meyer the Hatter the other day, the oldest and largest hat store in the South. Old Man Meyer turned a hundred this year. He is a joy to talk to. Commemorative tee shirts cost $25.00.
I took my friend Leather to the horologist to get a watchband and, since we were in the neighborhood, we ankled over to Meyer the Hatter. I needed something. She had never been.
Meyer the Hatter has pre-printed cards you can tuck into the inside of your hat, so that you can your hat from someone else's. The card says, "Like Hell its yours! But you can get one like at Meyer the Hatter. This hat belongs to..." And then there is space for you to write your name. I always write my phone number. Not everyone knows me by name.
I have never lost a hat, but, one time, I did have my hat stolen. It was the night I met Mrs. King. Who steals a man's hat? I caught the guy. He was wearing my hat coming out of the men's room. The bum. What kind of a churl would steal a man's hat? We have been enemies ever since.
The cards in my hats are all worn from overuse so I wanted to refresh them. The staff doesn't care. I am obviously a customer. While I was talking to the fourth generation of Meyers, Leather looked around. Then she tried on a few hats, real frilly, girly ones. She looked like Bo Peep.
"What do you think, Mr. King?" Leather asked as she curtseyed.
"I think we have wasted enough of these gentlemen's time," I said.
Outside, Leather said, "So the only reason we walked down here is so you could get some free cards?"
What else did we have to do? It was her day off, what better way to spend it? And, I needed new hat cards. Like Hell it's yours.
Never been, and must go.