Something we'd like not to talk about

I know it's not mine, as I have very short hair, so short it used to be called a 'butch' before butch became a badge of sexual identity. Anyway, it's a long blond hair I find in bed, belonging to neither me or my partner, who's not butch but whose hair is brown, not blond. When I tell my unbutch partner that I've found a hair and hold it up to the light to prove what I've found, she says, "where did it come from?" "Jeez," I say, how would I know? Do you think a strand of hair has a name tag?"

We're both in each other's air space, approaching the no-fly zone now--she feels like I'm making fun of her and I feel misunderstood.

She fires first: "remember, you wrestled on the bed with your two granddaughters and your grandson...one of your granddaughter's is blonde, it could be her hair." I examine the hair, considering the possibility. Nope, my blonde granddaughter is 8, and the hair I've found is hair of much older vintage, an aged hair if you will, experienced, still vital but a little tired. If I was Det. Columbo, I'd suss out local bars, bowling alleys, thrift stores for a blonde between the ages of 50 and 67...

...but I don't have the energy. It's late, I've downed my half-pint of Sleepytime Tea and a shot of Laphroaig. I just want to slip beneath the blankets and get warm, to snuggle into that place where I can't wait for it to be morning, while hoping it stays dark so I can have a good night sleep, though a nice balance of each is desirable.