Dangling from my seat-back pocket was a long blonde clip-in extension, the one that had been draped over my lunch for an hour. It was clipped neatly in place with the little binder clip I keep in my purse for crossword pages. When she bent down for the money, I’d simply fastened its ends. When she sat up, it stayed behind. Her own hair underneath was half that length.
“She stole my hair!” she shrieked. The flight attendant looked at the extension, then at me. “Ma’am, did you take her hair?” “No,” I said calmly. “It came over the seat by itself. I just stopped it.” The attendant turned to the blonde. “And is that fifty-dollar bill yours?” “Yes!” she snapped. “Then you won’t mind reading what’s written on it,” I said.
