Dear Wigleaf, One time in fourth grade, at the end of math class, a dead bee fell in my hair. I didn't know at first. This shy kid named D.J. kept whispering to his friend Alex and pointing at me and giggling. Alex, who was not shy, said, "There's a bee in your hair." I was mortified, like this bee had chosen to die on my head because I was dirty. I brushed the bee off and its stinger lodged in my middle finger. People always say how bees can sting even after they're dead, but it's one of those facts that you hear and you're just like, "Well, it technically could happen, but does it ever really?" I looked at the yellow glob of guts on the end of the stinger. I thought, so that really happens. Later that year I came to school with literally half a bottle of my mom's Aveda hairspray in my hair. I think I was tackling flyaways and didn't know when to stop. The smell was hard to describe. Not floral. Kind of medicinal. Neither bad nor good, just strong. Two popular girls, Katie and Kristen, circulated, seeking the source of the smell. Everyone was curious. It was a delightful mystery. It was a very strong smell. Finally Katie, who was blonde and petite, the opposite of me, leaned over my head and said, "It's her hair!" Everyone was really satisfied by this discovery. It was a thoroughly satisfying resolution to a delightful mystery. "Don't worry, it doesn't smell bad," Kristen said, but I was not comforted. The goodness or badness of the smell was irrelevant at that point. Those were the two embarrassing things that happened with my hair in fourth grade. Sincerely, Kate Folk - - -
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