I love my fuzzy hat.
It’s a well-worn, gently pilled crocheted hat that sits atop my head like a round yarn mushroom.
I don’t know if it’s the soft perkiness or spring-like greens and pinks and yellows and purples, but people are so nice to me when I wear it. Shoppers in stores break into conversation about bunnies. Cashiers actually smile at me in checkout lines. Cashiers. In stressed-out checkout lines. In Towson.
Maybe I look a bit cuddly or perhaps ridiculous.
But it doesn’t matter. My daughter game me this hat. And I think it’s magic.