I wore jeans and a white t-shirt as my "style" for most of my life. An anti-style to rebell against my 3 older sisters' styles and the preppy private school up bringing I was in the center of.
After a trip to Texas with my mom and sister I added a cowboy hat to that ensemble. (Now a mostly retired accessory it keeps its place in my wardrobe for situations where style triumphs when personality and charisma don't cut it.)
Such a time as my 16th summer... driving the river road until flashing blue and reds slowed my happy trail tromping to a halt.
I have tried so many ways to get out of a ticket. My one woman show has been seen many times by an audience of local law enforcement.
I melted into the seat of my no-air conditioning pontiac sunbird, propped my drivers license and proof out the window and waited for my destiny. With my hat blocking the sizzling afternoon sun John Wayne swaggered to my mind, "Talk low, talk slow, and don't say too much".
I answered, "Yeah. pretty fast"
Silence.
I squinted into the sun stabbing from behind the officer. He took off his sunglasses,
"nice hat, slow 'er down alright".
My thanks came with a smile and a new appreciation for how style, of all things, managed to do what tears and jokes and flashing smiles and flirting and lies could not.
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