Early in my cancer treatments, on one of those rare occasions when I actually wore a wig (rather than hats or scarves), I met my mother and two of my daughters (Brittney and Lindsey) at The Olive Garden for lunch. After lunch we decided to spend more time at Orland Square Mall.
As we walked through the mall, a guy whose kiosk was located in the middle of the mall, invited us to examine a brand new hair straightening (flatiron) product.
Promising that it was better than any product we'd ever seen, he asked us if he could demonstrate on us. Because my daughters, my mother, and I rarely get a chance to be together, we weren't about to take what precious time we had together and share it with a stranger, so we politely excused ourselves from the insistent little man.
After we got a few steps away, we laughed about how we SHOULD have handled the situation. Having read the literature on the wig I was wearing, I suggested that maybe I should have allowed the guy to demonstrate on me and then, when the wig disintegrated on his flatiron, I could have sued him for damages. We imagined the look on his face as my wig melted away his promise.
Lindsey topped my comment though, when she said, "Or you could have just taken it off and handed it to him."
Hey, Sir, have I got something to show you!
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