We don’t say it enough.
My hair is my crown. Why don’t I like you touching it, because it is personal private sacred.
Why do I seem to snap at you when you ask for a feel? What else would you really expect? You wonder why my expression changes as if in a flash from a smile and a grin to apprehension and disgust.
IT IS NOT OKAY, I say.
And those around me try to make it into a joke, it’s okay, she’s only kidding. They want to lighten the mood!
NO, I say. It really is not okay.
I wonder if these same people would feel comfortable if I were to reach into the most private of regions for a feel at their hair? Would that be acceptable? I don’t mean to be crass, but my hair…my right…my choice.
NO, you can’t touch it, I say. Seriously. With no smile. My voice tense. My eyes sharp and my tongue ready to lash out.