my family in funny hats

I try not to ask much of my family.

But at Christmas I expect them to wear make them wear a tissue paper hat. From a silly Christmas cracker come these cheap forms of entertainment.

I’m not generally a person who purchases things for single use. My default is used, whether it’s VarageSale, consignment, rummage, thrift store hunting or cast-offs from family and friends.

Where single use items are concerned, I do my best to be conscious. I wash and rewash plastic bags like a pensioner who survived the depression. I reuse envelopes to puzzle out Wordles. I keep rubber bands and bread ties from the grocery order, though I can’t say why.

I loathe floss picks.

But I indulge in these tissue hats. Partly, and sincerely, it’s for the my late mother. She discovered them one Christmas and they were a feature from then on. The table was set in the festive way with a napkin and a cracker on the plates. Once we were in our places, the napkins moved to our laps and the crackers were ripped open with satisfying pop. No one was exempt of wearing the tissue hats. My uncle Bob has been known to pull it over his eyes and poke two holes out, then put his glasses over the works to look suitably deranged. My great aunts, whose abilities to engage with conversation were stolen by dementia, wore them too. Aunty Joyce’s multiple toasts of, “Let’s drink to the cook!” became a cheerful way to drain the wine bottles, rather than a cause for concern.

Children and elders all donned this funny hat.

Now we match.
Now we are a family.
Now everything can be set aside so that a picture is taken to prove our relation.

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