Once there was a girl named Jenny. She was like all the other girls, especially for this one thing: she always wore a black hair tie around her wrist.

There was a boy named Alfred in her class. This made sense, as names from the 1900s had cycled back into fashion. Alfred liked Jenny, and Jenny liked Alfred, despite his name.

One day he asked her, “Why do you always wear that black hair tie around your wrist?”

“I cannot tell you,” said Jenny, in an attempt to practice boundary setting as encouraged by her therapist.

But Alfred, who was not partial to respecting boundaries and often felt entitled to women’s personal information, kept asking, “Why do you wear it?” And then he would reach over and snap it on her wrist.

Jenny would say, “Ow, fuck, stop. It’s not important.” Then she’d slide the hair tie up and down her arm to change the spot where an indentation was forming due to lack of circulation.

Jenny and Alfred grew up. Though Jenny had made strides with setting boundaries, she still struggled with low self-esteem and after three horrendous Tinder dates, she was ready to settle. The pickings were slim, so despite Alfred’s tendency to call women “girls,” insistence on always playing “devil’s advocate,” and annoying habit of snapping her hair tie, they got married.

After their wedding, which was held at a converted barn house with twinkle lights, Alfred said, “Now that we are married, you must tell me about the black hair tie.”

“You must wait,” said Jenny, mirroring his use of “must.” “I will tell you when the right time comes.”

Years passed. Alfred and Jenny grew old. One day Jenny became very sick. Due to a lack of research and funding dedicated to women’s health, the doctor told her that the pain was in her head and that she needed to think positive thoughts. Then the doctor said, “Or maybe you’re just experiencing menstrual cramps. Do you still get your period?”

Jenny knew this doctor just couldn’t be bothered. She felt she might have a dislocated vertebrae, and WebMD seemed to back her up on this. Jenny believed there was a statistically probable likelihood that she was going to die.

Jenny called Alfred to her side.

“Alfred,” she said. “Now I can tell you about the black hair tie. Pull it off my wrist, and you will see why I couldn’t tell you before.”

Slowly and carefully, Alfred slid the black hair tie off Jenny’s wrist.

When nothing happened, Jenny was like, “See? It’s not a big deal. Long hair is just a pain in the ass. Sometimes I fantasize about cutting it short. Like, remember that time we visited your cousins on Cape Cod, and the rental company upgraded us to the convertible? Thank god I had this hair tie, because my hair was flying everywhere. And it would have been such a bummer to pull the roof back up. Let’s just be real, Alfred. You would have thrown a literal temper tantrum if I had complained about the wind.” Jenny took a breath. “Christ, you’re so annoying. I can’t believe I wasted my life married to someone who wouldn’t let this one, stupid little thing go. You never even noticed that I regularly took it off to use it. And not to be a jerk, but I’ve always hated your stupid fucking name, Alfred. Since the moment I met you.”

Alfred started to open his mouth to tell Jenny that she was being too sensitive, but before he had the chance to speak, Jenny let out an exasperated sigh while rolling her eyes.

“And one last thing,” Jenny started. “Adult women are ‘women.’ Not ‘girls.’”

And then, Jenny’s head fell off.