His fingertips walked the dotted line the stitches made on the brim of his hat. The palm of his hand slid up over the dome of the garment, feeling the soft and subtle imperfections in the leather. The mad man's thin pink lips started to curl into a smile and gradually grew into a full teethy grin.
Hatter had bought a new Hat.
The eight-teenth century brown leather tricorn was a stunning accessory but of course it needed an equally impressive outfit for it to compliment. Of course we wouldn't put it past Hatter to strut about the house wearing just the headgear, his hands firmly planted on his bare hips standing tall and proud, but those who know him best know his fondness of costumes.
Two of Hearts and I sat on the couch talking about something not worth mentioning as I can not recall what it was when the silliness began. Out of the back of the house Hatter emerged wearing his tricorn over a powdered wig, a puffy white shirt, and a pirate captain's coat. He had taken his corporate salve uniform khaki's and tucked the ends of them into white stockings at his knees. To finish of his already ridiculous costume he wore black dress shoes with skeleton feet painted on top. Sometimes I wonder if he does these things just to see my head cock to one side and my eyes cross in confusion.
We shared in a laugh and some jestful pirate talk when a distant and faint sound managed to find our ears and silence the room instantly. We all stood still as if frozen in motion and strained to hear the cheerful musical tones that were slowly growing louder and louder. Eyes darted. Hatter met eyes with mine, Two of Hearts met Hatters, Then mine met Two of Hearts as we all stood silent recognizing that we all knew that tune pulling out buried memories: The ice cream truck was coming!
"Quick," Two of Hearts yelled excitedly, "Give him two dollars!" Before he could finish the order I had already produced a ten dollar bill and put it in Hatter's hand with haste.
We took our party outside at just the right moment. The conveyor of frozen confections approached the T intersection we lived on. The Piratey Hatter approached. The playful bounce in his step synced with the music as he reached the truck window.
The bewildered gentleman inside looked like he better fit in at a Greatful Dead tribute show than an ice cream truck but everyone has to make a living, I suppose. His mouth sat slightly open as he waited to find out what was about to happen with this peculiar client.
"Arr, One Ice cream sandwich," Hatter exclaimed in the best pirate voice he could manage while giggling. When the man did not respond and just went to fetch the sweet treat Hatter continued, "Say, you got change for a ten, me matey?"
The man, without cracking a smile responded, "Yes, sir."
Hatter giggled but swallowed down the laughter after a moment to correct the vendor, "That be capt'n' to yous!" The unamused merchant playacted to his apparently bilharzia buyer by offering a slight smile with his change. Scooping up his ice cream sandwich and his change Hatter turned to walk away.
"Have a nice day, Land Lubber!" He called back to the dead head ice cream truck driver. He then turned to me and we shared in a bit of laughter. Without his laughter pausing or changing tone to acknowledge a new thought had crossed his mind Hatter pulled his arm back and brought it hurling forward. It wasn't until I saw his hand release the sugary sweet that I stopped laughing realizing that...
I just got pegged in the face with an ice cream sandwich.