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covers her nose. “Ugh, maybe not that air.”
    â€œCome on, crisis meeting.” Morgan yanks the desk chair onto the balcony. All three of us take our places for the official “Spa Girls Board of Directors Meeting” where we discuss the reasons for the trip. Of course, we all know the reasons, and we’re only rehashing old information, but venting is a necessary part of a Spa Girls Weekend.
    We sit and look at each other. We’re here. I’m significantly calmer knowing I’m here, and that I can always come here if I need to. And that my Spa Girls will always be on my side. Once, in college, there was this guy I was interested in, and I followed him to class. He caught me trailing him, turned around sharply, and said, “Stop following me, Afro girl! You need a muzzle on that thing!” I was heartbroken and humiliated.
    The next day, Morgan dressed up in heels and a skirt and accidentally-on-purpose dropped her art history paper in front of him. When he saw the endless legs attached to the heels on the absolute vision before him, he became speechless and bent down immediately to pick it up. Morgan cut him off in mid-bend. “Don’t touch my paper,” she said. “I don’t know where you’ve been. And I don’t want to.” Then, with a flick of her luxurious hair, she picked up her paper and sashayed off.
    It was a small thing. The guy never knew she had anything to do with me or his rude comment the day before. I’m sure he didn’t even get it, but her gesture made me feel six feet tall, with naturally sleek hair, and ready for the cover of Vogue . Poppy and I stood by laughing, entranced by our friend’s unselfish-yet-childish act.
    â€œIt feels good to be here, doesn’t it?” I ask. “It’s been too long.”
    â€œLet’s hit it!” Morgan says, clapping her manicured hands together. “First, we need to give thanks that Lilly dumped Robert. I’ve been praying for that for ages.”
    â€œIs that biblically acceptable? Praying for me to dump someone?” I ask.
    â€œTake it up with God, Lilly,” Poppy says.
    Morgan holds up a palm. “First of all, do not say he dumped you. I will not allow you to be dumped by a drone who thought Denny’s was an appropriate date night choice in San Francisco. The finest culinary fare in the world, and he thinks letting you choose the chicken-fried steak is going all out. He so did not dump you. I will not give him the satisfaction of dumping you.”
    â€œOkay,” I shrug. “But he sort of did.”
    Poppy starts to crack up.
    â€œBesides, I like chicken-fried steak,” I admit.
    â€œNext subject,” Morgan says.
    â€œWell,” I say. “We have an array of choices. We can start with my pathetic career, move on to my nonexistent love life, or if we’re really feeling lottery-lucky, we can go with my hair. The root of all my issues.” I look at Poppy, and her mouth is open. “And if you say one thing about my negative energy, you’re gonna feel my negative energy in the form of a palm!”
    Poppy puts her hands up in surrender and giggles. “Listen, I’d rather have a nonexistent love life without a boyfriend than with one!” She clears her throat. “Robert…really, Lilly, if we’re going to discuss pathetic…besides, neither one of us would have attended a wedding to that dimwit. He made Alan Green-span look like the life of the party.”
    â€œHe was bald,” I explain, because for me that’s a good thing. Massive hair plus no hair equals children with normal hair, right? Because I would never inflict any child with my mop—and the life that goes with it.
    â€œLilly, I’ve tried to explain genetics to you,” Poppy says. “It doesn’t matter if your husband is bald; you could still have a child with curly hair.”
    I cover my ears. “I’m not