A Random Conversation

This took place yesterday afternoon, as I struggled to get the tangles out of my wet hair.

Andrea: [Walking down the hall, just getting back from class. She sees me and halts.] Ooh.
Me: [Struggling with the comb, arms tired as hell, and I’m only halfway done.] I know, right? Sometimes, very briefly, I want to cut it off.
Andrea: No. I’m jealous. Now I want to do your hair. Let me do your hair.
Me: [Instant panic] Hell, no! You are not burning my hair. Begone, with your evil ideas.
Andrea: I don’t burn hair. I just want to straighten it.
Me: Oh, and that’s accomplished by running a cold curling iron along hair, now? Right. You ain’t burnin’ my hair.
Andrea: It’s not–Look, you’ve seen S.’s hair. You’ve seen my hair. It’s not burnt.
Me: It is too burnt. And what am I going to do with it? You burn it, straighten it, and if it doesn’t fall out, I will just put it back in my customary ponytail and plait it. Then it’ll be all wispy and shit, which is harder to deal with than wavy when it’s this thick. You ain’t burnin’ my hair.
Andrea: [Laughing] But then you can wear it down. And it won’t fall out.
Me: I don’t like hair in my face or on my neck. You ain’t burning my hair.
Andrea: But–
Me: Nope. Go away. I have to finish.

She made funny faces at me for the rest of the day. “I’m jealous” was all I heard from her. All I could think, other than “stay away from my hair”, was that it’s probably a good thing she never met my mother. One, she’d be coveting her hair, and two, my mother would probably support the burning endeavors and would rope me into a chair to let Andrea do her work.