That Hair Mask Smells Divine

A single bottle of hair mask. That's all it took for one of my student's parents to lose her mind.
Are you trying to marry into money, Ms. Lister?
I stared at her message, completely baffled.
Her tone dripped with contempt.
My husband just posted photos of his new car last night, and what a coincidence, I run into you buying a fancy hair mask at the store today.
"But let me tell you, the gap between us isn't something you can close with a single bottle of conditioner."
"If you don't cut all that hair off, I'm reporting you to the Board of Education. I'll tell them you're seducing my husband and get you fired."
I read the message, took a screenshot of the entire conversation, and immediately posted it in the parent-teacher group chat, tagging everyone.
"Just a PSA for everyone: Be careful buying hair masks. People might accuse you of being a gold digger."

1
Leo Carr was the wealthiest kid in my kindergarten class.
His mother, Sandra, dropped him off and picked him up every day in a different luxury car. His backpack was a new designer model every week. The amusement park that other kids only got to visit for their birthdays was a weekly weekend trip for their family.
But perhaps all that money had made his mother incredibly particular.
In less than a month since school started, she had summoned me for meetings multiple times.
The first time, she complained that the school's stainless-steel lunch trays weren't "refined" enough and demanded we switch to ceramic.
I explained, "We use stainless steel because the children are still very young, and it prevents injuries from broken plates."
"If you'd prefer, you're welcome to pack Leo's lunch in a separate container from home."
Sandra was instantly displeased.
"As a school, providing for the children's daily needs is your responsibility. Why should the parents have to spend extra money?"
She made a scene, but in the end, the school didn't give in.
The second time, she complained that the single air conditioning unit in the classroom wasn't enough and demanded we install more.
I politely refused.
"The school's budget is limited. If we only upgrade this classroom, it will cause complaints from other parents. However, if you would be willing to fund the purchase yourself, we can certainly arrange for installation."
Sandra went silent.
The third time, she complained that the toilets were old-fashioned and demanded they all be replaced with modern, automatic-flush models.
I had grown accustomed to her unreasonable demands. "That can be arranged," I said calmly, "but you would need to cover the costs yourself."
...
Perhaps because she kept hitting a wall, Sandra finally quieted down for a while.
But it didn't last long.
That evening, I had just stepped out of the shower. I unlocked my phone to find over a dozen missed calls and messages.
They were all from Sandra.
I towel-dried my hair with one hand and typed with the other: "Mrs. Carr, is there a problem? I see your messages."
An audio message popped up instantly.
Ms. Lister, why did it take you so long to reply? The school day is over. What could you possibly be so busy with?
I frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising in me. My time after work was my own.
But I pushed the feeling down, thinking something might have happened to Leo. I typed back patiently:
I was in the shower, so I couldn't get to my phone right away.
Unexpectedly, Sandra sent another long audio message.
I messaged you at 7:00. It's 7:40 now. Almost an hour. Does it really take you that long to shower?
I was completely dumbfounded. Her tone was hostile, and I couldn't understand why she was so angry. But assuming it was something urgent, I continued to explain.
A shower doesn't usually take that long, but I washed my hair tonight. It's quite long, so it takes a bit more time.
Sandra went quiet. I waited for a long time, but nothing came. I finally picked up my hair dryer.
Just then, my phone chimed again.
It was Sandra. This time, she'd sent a picture.
I tapped on it. It was a photo of me, in a supermarket aisle, looking at hair masks.
Sandra: Ms. Lister, don't you think you owe me an explanation?
I stared at the photo, trying to figure out what she could possibly want me to explain.
Finally, I just wrote back:
I'm sorry, Mrs. Carr, but I don't understand what you mean. And I have to ask why you were taking pictures of me without my knowledge.
Sandra shot back: I'm asking you, why were you buying a hair mask?
This was getting bizarre.
What business was it of hers what I bought?
But I wanted to clear up this misunderstanding and get some rest, so I answered honestly.
Because I ran out of the one I had at home.
Her next audio message was practically a shriek: Ms. Lister, do you take me for a fool?!
Me: ???
I frowned. Mrs. Carr, I really don't understand what you're implying.
Sandra:
Fine, Ms. Lister. Since you want to play dumb, I'll spell it out for you. Why are you trying to seduce my husband?
So young and already scheming to sleep with your student's father. Have you no shame?
Do you even deserve to be a teacher?!
A hot rush of anger surged through me.
I had never even had a proper conversation with Leo's father. Where did she get off accusing me of seducing him?
My fingers trembled as I typed.
Mrs. Carr, I suggest you watch your words. I have had no contact with Leo's father. There is no 'seduction.'
Her reply was shrill.
Still playing innocent? Then how do you explain the hair mask?
I truly could not see the connection.
What does one have to do with the other? I typed.
Everything.
Sandra replied.
Haven't you seen the shows lately? The scheming woman who uses her beautiful hair to trap a rich man.
You always seemed so simple and plain before. I actually thought you were a decent girl.
But the moment my husband posts about his new car, I find you in the store, spending ages picking out a hair mask.
I have a witness and evidence. What more is there to say?
I actually laughed out loud.
She'd been watching too much TV.
I took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down before replying.
Mrs. Carr, you're overthinking this. I bought a hair mask because my old one was empty. If you don't believe me, I can send you a picture of the empty bottle.
It was absurd, but I just wanted it to be over. I walked into my bathroom and snapped a picture of the empty plastic bottle in the trash can.
In case she still didn't believe me, I added an explanation.
Mrs. Carr, for the record, I have all parents' social media feeds muted.
I have 46 children in my class, and I teach two groups, so I'm connected with over ninety parents. If I didn't set restrictions, it would be impossible to separate my personal life from my work.
So, I had absolutely no idea that Leo's father posted about a new car.
The next second, my phone started ringing. It was Sandra.

2
I answered the call.
Sandra's sharp, furious voice erupted from the other end.
"Ms. Lister, what is the meaning of this? How dare you post our conversation in the group chat?!"
I put the phone on speaker, set it on the table, and calmly continued drying my hair.
"It means nothing," I replied coolly. "I just thought your imagination was impressive, Mrs. Carr. I figured everyone could learn something from your unique perspective."
"I'll have you know I'm calling the Board of Education right now to file a complaint against you!" Her voice was distorted with rage, grating on the ear.
"Go right ahead," I said, my tone even.
"In fact, I'd love for the board members to weigh in on this."
"Let's see what law a rule-abiding kindergarten teacher breaks by purchasing a bottle of hair mask."
"Let's see if from now on, all female teachers will be forbidden from taking care of their hair, lest they be accused of trying to seduce a student's father."
"You..."
Sandra was so choked with anger she couldn't speak. All I could hear was her heavy, ragged breathing.
I was done wasting my breath on her. I hung up.
The sudden silence was a relief.
But I knew this wasn't over.
I opened the parents' group chat, which was already flooded with over 99 new messages.
As expected, it had exploded.
The first to react were some of the more active mothers.
Lily's Mom: Oh my god, what is going on? Buying a hair mask = seducing a parent? My brain can't even process that logic.
Ben's Mom: LMAO, I just bought two giant tubs of hair mask last week. Am I going to get fired too? @Ms. Lister
Chloe's Dad: Those soap operas are a menace to society.
Of course, there were a few trying to smooth things over.
Max's Grandma: Oh dear, this must be some kind of misunderstanding. I'm sure Mrs. Carr was just joking.
Sam's Mom: Yeah, exactly! Ms. Lister, don't take it to heart. Let's not make a big deal out of it.
I read the messages and scoffed.
A joke?
Was that a joke?
Accusing me of being shameless, of trying to steal her husband.
I wasn't that forgiving.
I was about to reply when a new message popped up.
It was from Leo's father, Chris Carr.
He tagged me in the group.
@Ms. Lister, I am so sorry. My wife has been binge-watching some ridiculous TV shows lately and isn't thinking straight. I apologize for the trouble she's caused you.
Then, he tagged Sandra.
@Sandra Carr, apologize to Ms. Lister right now! What is all this nonsense you're spouting!
The group chat fell silent.
Everyone was waiting for Sandra's response.
After about two minutes, she finally appeared. But it wasn't an apology. It was an audio message, her voice sharp and piercing.
Chris Carr, what is your problem? You're taking her side against me? She's publicly humiliating me and you're telling me to apologize? Are you interested in her too?!
A dead silence fell over the group chat.
I could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating through the screen. This was no longer a simple misunderstanding; this was a public airing of their marital problems.
Chris didn't reply again. He was probably either furious or deeply embarrassed.
Sandra, however, seemed to have found a new target. She started spamming the chat, tagging Chris over and over, her messages growing increasingly nasty.
I quietly exited the chat.
This was a mess I wanted no part of.
I finished drying my hair, put on a face mask, and went to bed. The world could be ending, but it would have to wait until I'd had my sleep.
The next morning, the moment I arrived at the kindergarten, the principal called me into her office.
Her name was Mrs. Davison, a kind woman in her fifties who always looked out for the younger teachers.
"Leah, come in, sit down."
She poured me a glass of water.
"I heard about what happened last night."
I nodded, waiting for her to continue.
"Sandra Carr called me first thing this morning. She's threatening to file a formal complaint and demanding you give her a 'satisfactory resolution.'"
Mrs. Davison sighed, a look of weary frustration on her face.
"She said that if you don't cut your hair short and post a public apology in the group chat, she's going to the Board of Education and the local news to drag our school's name through the mud."
I almost laughed.
Cut my hair?
Who did she think she was? The Queen?
"Mrs. Davison, I will not apologize, and I am certainly not cutting my hair," I said, my voice firm as I met her gaze.
"I have done nothing wrong. If I give in to such a ridiculous demand, what kind of authority will I have left in my classroom?"
"What will the other parents think? What will the children think?"
"They'll learn that teachers can be bullied, that any parent's unreasonable demand must be met."
Mrs. Davison nodded in agreement.
"You're right. That's exactly my thinking as well." She patted my hand reassuringly.
"Don't you worry. The school is behind you on this. I will handle Sandra Carr."
"You just focus on your class. Don't let this affect your mood or your work."
With the principal's support, a weight lifted from my shoulders.
I went back to my classroom as the children began to arrive. Leo was there, dropped off by his nanny. He seemed withdrawn and sad, his eyes red and puffy as if he'd been crying.
I sighed internally. When adults fight, it's always the children who are the most innocent victims.
I walked over and gently stroked his hair.
"Good morning, Leo."
He looked up at me and mumbled, "Morning, Ms. Lister," before looking back down at the floor.
Throughout the day, Leo was much quieter than usual. He didn't play with the other children or say much at all. I was worried. During nap time, I called him over to sit with me.
"Leo, what's wrong? Are you feeling sad?"
He shook his head, silent.
"Is it because Mommy and Daddy had a fight?" I asked gently.
His eyes immediately welled up, and big, fat tears started rolling down his cheeks.
"Mommy... Mommy smashed Daddy's computer," he sobbed.
"And she said... she said it was all because of Ms. Lister."
My heart sank. Sandra was taking her anger toward me out on her family.
I pulled Leo into a hug, patting his back softly.
"It's okay, sweetie. It's not your fault, and it's not the teacher's fault."
"Grown-up problems are complicated, but your mommy and daddy both love you very much."
I didn't know how else to explain it to a five-year-old. I just did my best to comfort him.
When it was time to go home, Sandra arrived.
She wore a pair of enormous sunglasses that hid half her face, and her expression was grim. She ignored me completely, walked straight to Leo, and yanked his hand, pulling him toward the door so forcefully he stumbled.
"Mrs. Carr, please be gentle with him," I couldn't help but say.
Sandra whipped her head around, her eyes glaring at me from behind the dark lenses.
"Well, aren't you concerned about my son, Ms. Lister," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"One might almost think you were trying to be his new stepmother."
Other parents were still in the hallway, and her words made all of them turn and stare.
I was shaking with rage.
"Mrs. Carr, that is completely inappropriate!"

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