“Then don’t stand so close.”
I glanced down at the floor, where I was standing precisely where the line required me to stand.
“I’m waiting to pay for my purchase.”
“Well, personal space still exists.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It does. That’s why I mentioned your hair.”
The cashier pressed her lips together, struggling to maintain a professional expression.
Brittany rolled her eyes and turned away.
A few moments later, she whipped her head around again. This time, the ends of her hair brushed across my hand.
I took a small step backward.
“Does it always need that much room?” I asked.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
She stared at me.
“It’s called volume.”
“I see. I thought Cousin Itt had finally found a conditioner that worked.”
The cashier burst out laughing.
Even a man standing near the entrance smiled.
Brittany’s cheeks turned pink.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of your perfume? Not particularly.”
She grabbed her shopping bag and marched toward the exit.
