our hats are off...

Upon exiting the 116th street subway, we came across a gaggle of horrified college girls (the squirmy freshman type) looking at an object on the street. Amongst the cries -- "Ohmigod, it's a beaver!" "No, it's a otter!" -- Doug became curious, stepping closer to the object and being able to decifer it's very much dead and harmless nature.

Others began to swarm on the Broadway sidewalk — unsure what the commotion emitted from the high pitched girls in their matching houndstooth scarves, mittens, and headbands and recently flat ironed locks, hoping to be some college boy's catch of the night. Finally Doug plucks the object off the sidewalk saying in a dry and unwilling-to-play-into-their-nonsensical-fears tone, "It's a hat."

The shreaks did not subside, but resonated past the chilling wind. Doug took one look at the hat before lobbing it like a hand grenade into the middle of the cackling tribe of terrified girls who did not move out of the way of the identified, but still strange, New York street object.

As we walked away, Beka couldn't help but notice the laughs from other people at the expense of the girls. But we couldn't help but wonder what some of our friends would do... (GP, Pep, this means you.)