Hair piece

I knew it was going to be a shitty ride the moment she sunk her body into the seat in front of me. Hate ran hot when she deftly slid her fingers up her nape and in one swift motion, spread her hair all over the back of the seat—inches away from my face.

Now hair, women with long hair to be exact, tap a hidden rage in me. It’s the years of sitting behind them in jeepneys and having their disgusting alien tendrils fly into my mouth and whip me on the face that makes me a little homicidal when I see hair so wantonly spread before me. I think I did temporarily go mad because I spent the next thirty minutes willing myself not to do the following to her hair:

Set it on fire…
Chew gum and festoon it round her head…
Trap strands in my bag’s zipper and then yank it close…
Braid pens, keys, flash disk, wet tissue, Difflam, the springs of my notebook and whatever else I can find in my bag into the ends…
Sneeze and pray that my virus and green snot gets in there good…
Flick boogers into it…
Engage hair owner in good old-fashioned sabunutan…

Maybe next time.