A bright pink, glittering mass was clinging to the ends of her expensive blonde extensions.
She stared at it.
Then she touched it with one finger.
The slime stretched into a thin, sparkling strand.
She pulled her hand away.
The strand followed.
“What is that?”
She touched it again, this time with more force.
The pink substance stretched farther, clinging to several strands at once.
Her eyes widened.
“IS THAT SLIME?”
I looked at her.
“It’s slime, sweetheart. I bought it for my granddaughter.”
She stared at me as though I had just announced that I had stolen her passport.
“YOU PUT SLIME IN MY HAIR?”
“Your hair was in my lunch. I thought we were sharing.”
For the first time since I had met her, Brittany seemed genuinely speechless.
Then she began pulling at the slime.
That made everything worse.
It stretched between her fingers and the extensions like melted candy. Her acrylic nails became coated in glittering pink residue.
