Elevator, morning

“Don’t cut your hair.”

“Hm?” I look over at the older gentleman who’s sharing the elevator with me. He’s finely dressed, with a trenchcoat, hat, and suit underneath.

“Don’t cut your hair. You’re a big-haired girl. Let it get big.”

I have no idea what to respond, other than, “Thanks. I have been growing it.”

“Good. Men like long hair.”

“I’ve noticed.”

The doors open and after wishing each other a good day, we part ways and head to our respective workplaces.

Actually, I can’t wait until it’s warm out so I don’t have to blowdry it. I’ll have Shakira hair!

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