“Beauty is an investment, right?”
The cashier made a noise like a kettle.
“Guys, apparently my perfume is offending people now,” she told her screen.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. It hit me squarely across the face.
“Careful, sweetheart. Your hair just hit me.”
“Then don’t stand so close.”
“I’m standing in line.”
“Your hair just hit me.”
“Personal space is still a thing.”
I stepped back. She whipped her head around again.
This time it caught my hand.
“Does it always need that much room?”
“What?”
“Your hair.”
She whipped her head around again.
“It’s called volume.”
“I see. I thought Cousin Itt had finally found a conditioner.”
The cashier lost it completely.
“Whatever. Some people just can’t appreciate good hair.” At the door she turned. “Maybe you’re just jealous.”
“Of the perfume? Not particularly.”
She left. The smell stayed behind like a guest who hadn’t noticed the party was over.
