"I just prefer women with straight hair."
I paused at my then-boyfriend’s words, shocked. I felt a churning of emotions within. Could this actually be happening? I was silent for a while. I had a decision to make there and then: break-up with him or begin a lengthy (mostly likely to turn emotionally hysterical) argument. After all, Stanley’s (that’s not his real name) statement proved that he could never fully accept me and the ever-blossoming puff of hair on my head.
I was 20 years old at that time and in my first relationship. I tried to let it go, but true to my nature, I let snarky comments spill out any time our conversations were even remotely related to hair. For days I was tormented by flashing images of his ex and her long, straightened hair — flipping her annoying tresses back and forth in slow motion and giggling like the daintiest of ladies. Did he like her more? I mean, he’s into that, isn’t he? Did her hair make her prettier that ME? Holy crap, he still loves her! Oh, the insecurities of the young. Bless his heart for sensing my discomfort because he finally took me aside and elaborated with a brief explanation that I still remember:
”Baby, it’s just that I’ve always been with girls who have straight hair. It’s just a style that I’m very accustomed to. But I love you and your hair. I don’t want you to change it and I would never want you to feel like you have to.”
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