Strands of my hair had loosened over the course of the night and tangled themselves around clasps that held my dress around my neck. I fought with it for a few minutes longer, then, when I finally feared I might draw blood, I gave up with a flail of frustration and marched back out into the living room. “I am stuck.” Max put down his book. “You’re stuck.” “Yes. My hair, and my dress—” I gestured to my neck. “Can you… uh… help?”
Thank god for unruly hair
