A treatise.

 original

As a Single Young Nonsmoking Female, I have resided for the past two and a half years in four separate apartments, sharing space with eighteen different women (alphabetically: Amanda, Amber, Amy, Anna, Bethany, Briana, Christina, Elisa, Hannah, Heather, Jessica H., Jessica M., Katherine, Kathleen, Lizzy, Lyndee, Nancy, Natalie C., Natalie S., and Stephanie). Recently, statistical analysis has revealed that fully nine out of the eighteen young women with whom I have cohabited (50%) share one trait I both envy and despise: long, thick, dark hair. (Note: Specifically excluded from these calculations are two former housemates characterized by fine, medium-length dark hair, which is, for the purposes of this study, wholly manageable and otherwise unremarkable). Though when attached, the long, thick, dark hairs of my roommates are aesthetically pleasing and envious to behold, the ubiquitous appearance of their disembodied counterparts in my daily life is proving to constitutively induce in my psyche an ardent desire to spontaneously combust.

Let it be known that my own scalp grows very fine blonde hair of medium length, with which I have never experienced undue exasperation. I live, sleep, and eat freely in a world without visible hairs, never having to unclog them from my shower drain or clear them from public spaces. Therefore, taking up residence with girls of such a different and difficult scalp phenotype has consistently proven frustrating. In my current apartment, I am the sole occupant of a nice little room just adjacent to the kitchen. Though I sleep alone, more often than not I share the space with a most unwelcome visitor: the long, thick, dark hair of my sublease provider. I have never met her, but her hair weaves between us a relationship both awkward and inappropriate. I find the offending pieces of concentrated epithelium entwined in my laptop binding, clothes hangers, bedsheets, and shoe buckles when least expected and experience excessive anxiety about the origin of said hairs and their mysterious paths to my personal things. These hated hairs clogged the bathroom drain my freshman year in college, forcing my roommates and I to shower in ankle-deep water that never seemed to drain until the maintenance man could be bothered to provide us with assistance. They clung to the carpet and to my wet feet as I stepped from the shower bath into the hallway as a sophomore. And they seem to have followed me all the way to Massachusetts.

HENCE A TIMELY CALL TO ACTION:
Women of this hair, take responsibility!
Spare the rest of us from your lifelong battle with drains and carpets, and we will coexist peacefully! Continue to shed, and I'm stealing your toothpaste.