I’m really fond of my white cap and this summer it’s gone with me practically everywhere. It’s been soaked with drizzle at Guilfest, drenched with red wine at Farmfest, then was lovingly rinsed out again in time for me to wear it as I trudged around the streets of Piacenza looking for decent wi-fi access. But it may be time to retire it.
The first sign came last week when I got back from the Small Town 1 market day and ran into my next door neighbour, who said: “I caught a glimpse of you at the market and for a minute I thought you were your grandmother.”
“Hmm…” last time I checked, I wasn’t 89, although the sun might have aged me a bit. “How so?” I asked.
“You know, she used to wear that white cap all the time so it gave me a bit of a shock.”
Then I remembered that during her last years of freedom, Nonna never left the house in summer without her white sea captain’s hat and aviator glasses. Pretty avant garde for her generation, but not the look I was going for.
I shoved that thought to the back of my mind, but then yesterday as I was walking to the flute concert with Cousin A and her best friend, the best friend said “When I looked out of my apartment window and saw the two of you walk past I thought A had taken her father out for a stroll. You know, because he wears that white cap…”
I’d fooled myself into thinking I looked kooky and a little bit 60s in it, but it seems that I look as if I’m in my 60s. Or 70s, or 80s. Maybe it’s time to buy a new hat.
Pensioner?
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