To find a summer hat

It won't be long until Straw Hat Day and mine has become a mite shabby.  I mentioned this over breakfast and Mrs. T gamely inquired what I intended to do about it.  Last time I was in need we took an excursion to the seediest neighborhood in Mayberry, a feat Mrs. T promised never to duplicate.  No, I reported, I believe I have located a purveyor in New Orleans.  It's the week before Easter, they should be well stocked.

Remarkably, she took the bait.  What's your real motive?

That the Mayberry boy Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival is this weekend, and his birthday is Tuesday didn't fly, nor did the news of the anniversary of Ken Toole's death, also on Tuesday, get a response.  Not having grown up on this planet, Mrs. T had never heard of, nor read Confederacy of Dunces.  We could fill up on Lucky Dogs was also a no go, as was it was likely to be 40 degrees warmer in the Crescent City than in Mayberry.

The last card in my deck was trumps.  I've two airline tickets and a room booked for four nights within walking distance of beignets and Galatoire's. Finally, a smile. We leave at dawn Thursday.

Could be the world's most expensive hat.

Toad