A young woman mocked my age at the airport, then spent our entire flight throwing her long hair into my face and food. She thought a 73-year-old woman couldn’t fight back. Good thing I’d made one very unusual purchase at duty-free.

came away connected to it by a thread.

“IS THAT SLIME?!”

“Slime, sweetheart. It was meant for my granddaughter. You’re an early adopter.”

“YOU PUT SLIME IN MY HAIR?!”

“Your hair was in my lunch. I thought we were exchanging things.”

“THESE EXTENSIONS COST EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS!”

“Yes, dear. You’ve mentioned that. I’d keep my hands away from it.”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

The slime didn’t tear. It stretched, a long glittering rope from her head to her hand.

Her acrylic nails sank in like forks into spaghetti.