#30 ZELDA'S HAT

This six-sentence story was written for and posted on sixsentences.blogspot.com.

Zelda Throo was having a hard time keeping her hat from blowing in the wind, having known full well before she set out that a hat of this type with a wide brim could be trouble in numerous ways; causing her to lose her grounding while attempting to hold it in place, followed by the frantic nervousness if it blew off, then a lack of coordination in retrieving it, made more likely by having worn new shoes, untested on the streets.

Zelda's hat was removed; she knew it would not stay on her head walking on windy Van Ness Avenue so she reluctantly carried it almost wishing she could stash it somewhere - it could become problematical if she needed her hands free - but she could not do that because it had been a rather expensive impulse purchase.

Zelda continued on, her poise a little loosened from her center of gravity and as she gathered speed, was satisfied to see by her watch that she would not be late; she hated late in all its manifestations, was habitually early, but that is not
pertinent to the story and has caused me to use unnecessary words in this sentence which we cannot afford if we are to reach the conclusion of this minor tale of Zelda and her hat in six sentences, and more to the point, reach her
appointment, her assignation we have not yet been apprised of.

Zelda turned on Pine and continued in an easterly direction where the wind died down and she was able to fix the hat in place on her rather large head, made to seem larger from unruly hair, none of this her fault, but with the hat out of her hands she could now try to pull up her stockings which were threatening to wrap around her knees, a serious dilemma because she was wearing a shorter skirt than usual striving for an attractive, youthful look, her legs generally considered better than her hair.

She ducked in an alleyway beside a church thinking surely no one would ogle her there, hoping to fix the mutant stockings, realized they too were seriously problematical, decided to take them off but remembered she didn't have her tote
bag with her and they would have to be pitched in the alley as she was carrying a smart, essentially useless handbag to give a tidy impression although the hat was still in place, she gratefully acknowledged.

Zelda arrived at the office of Granger, Phelps and Ogdon, an Edwardian lower flat that was as quiet and nestled as a spa retreat with a tall, equally quiet Calla lily plant situated on a walnut side table with a silver dish of business cards beyond which sat a streamlined receptionist who recognized Zelda's presence vaguely, and as her dull eyes darted toward Zelda's hat, the word "bizarre" flicked through her mind but when Zelda moved closer, the receptionist, named Rosalette, (she may as well have a name as she is almost the lead character in this sentence) saw that the hat was on backwards, stifled a laugh, asked her to take a seat which Zelda thankfully took, hoping to compose herself for a moment, wondering if she should remove her hat but thought her hair, now a fright from the wind, would be worse so left it on thinking, God, job interviews are so stressful...I hope I get this job so I never have to go on another.