Debbie had wiry brown hair that could
spring out of control at a moment’s notice.
She annually spent what Jonah reckoned to be hundreds of dollars in her
attempt to find the perfect hair care product that would make it smooth and
soft. “Your hair is your hair,” he would tell her. “You should just learn
to accept it.”
“But I don’t like it.”
“So you don’t have nice hair. You can’t have everything.”
Debbie stared at him. She then turned and left the room.
Jonah meant to tell her that he, personally,
loved her hair. But from how she was
slamming around the kitchen he decided it was probably best just to leave her
alone.
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