i went downstairs with my hair in a curly afro, and well this is the conversation i had with my mother:

mum: aren’t you straightening your hair for tonight?

me: mum, i’m going to a gig, it’s going to be hot and sweaty and no, im wearing my hair in a bun

mum: how are you going to meet a nice boy with a bun on your head?

me: i dont plan on meeting my future husband in a darkened corner of the corner hotel

mum: well you need to meet boys in places where you have common interests, imagine all the conversations wou could have about music if you met a nice boy at a La Dispute concert.

me: mum, shut up

then I walked out of the room. At least she remembered who I am seeing tonight.