Hair

How differently we react to the same subject.

Budi likes to play with hair: He grew up sleeping by his mother, holding the thick of her hair in his hand.

Sometimes at work, when I’m not looking, he pulls gently tugs my ponytail on his way out. It surprised me the first time he did it. Later on, when I knew why, it just filled me with fleeting warmth.

Yesterday, our friend and colleague - Gadis - joined us on our smokers' table, each of us exhausted with all the closing chaos that we’ve been bearing in the last week.

I asked Budi, out of the blue and after so many hair tugs, “so the longer the hair, is the more you like it?”
He grinned. “Very much,”
But Gadis was appalled, “Eeeewwwww! That’s gross! My husband says it gets in his nose if it’s unshaven!”

The silence that followed, and complete shock on our faces made her realize what a misunderstanding this had been.

She detached her head from her neck, stuffing it in her backpack from utter embarrassment, and against our explosive laughter, we heard her mumble, “I really, reaaaaally need to go back and see my husband. I’m not thinking straight anymore.”

This post should’ve been titled: Desperate Relocated Staff.