Blonde & Blonder

The trucker hat is the wounded creature that hides in a dark crevice as it waits to die. Should some hapless individual approach the trucker hat, that person faces the possibility of death, injury or worse - the creature leaping onto the individual's head at a crooked angle. The creature then refuses to leave the person's head. It remains there, despite the risk of public humiliation facing the unfortunate victim of the hat attack.

Breakwaters. Last night, as the sun sank as a dazzling ball of orange, two of the trucker hat's latest victims sauntered in. Short, puffy layered skirts, tube tops and off-kilter trucker hats. The three of us stared as they passed - it was the train wreck impossible to turn away from.

"Oh my God," K said as they sank by a table and placed an order with the waitress. They showed their licenses. "They're legal. They're old enough to know better."

There were two hats - red and blue. I saw that the blue hat said "BLONDE." It was a DIY affair, as she had clearly written on the letters herself.

"This is painful," I said before bursting into laughter. A young girl, maybe 10 or 11, had just walked by the girls with a look of absolute disgust. Even the youth knew to just say no to those hats.

I couldn't see what the red hat said. I was scared to find out, but continued sneaking glances throughout the evening until I noticed B2 burst into laughter. "Did you see it?"

"No! What does it say?"

"BLONDER."

I suddenly felt embarrassed to be of the flaxen-haired variety.

Photographic evidence of this monstrosity will be added later in the day. I did, however, refrain from capturing the image of the man standing by the bar later on in the evening. The man who prompted us to say, "I don't think he's wearing any pants."

Lime-green Speedo and a orange t-shirt - which he stripped away as he walked along the dock later on.

I'm still trying to erase that image from my mind.