Misplaced Affections
MISPLACED AFFECTIONS – April 25, 2026 – Lincoln, Nebraska, USA
Nicole Faggic loved family dinners, especially when they were held outside or in someone else’s kitchen. To ensure she did not do all the cooking, she had mastered delegation. If she wanted a picnic, she chose a time and location and expected each of her four adult children to bring something. As she liked to put it, “Grandma Nicole knows how to make things happen.” She did not mind when one of her sons-in-law called her bossy. If fact, she kind of liked it.
When the spring weather warmed up and looked stable enough for the year’s first outing, Nicole made reservations for a covered table in a city park. She texted everyone in the family their assignment. They all understood it was not a request or invitation. It was an appointment, and no one was to arrive empty-handed.
Each family was to bring their own hamburgers and hot dogs for grilling. Someone was assigned condiments and utensils. Someone else would supply sliced fruit and vegetables. Nicole’s oldest daughter, Brielle, was ordered to make her family-favorite potato salad. She had perfected a recipe that was light and tangy without drowning in mayonnaise. She sliced her potatoes, pickles, and eggs into tiny mouthwatering pieces and added secret sweetening ingredients.
Brielle’s food assignment easily required the most preparation. On the morning of the picnic, she busily scrubbed and peeled potatoes, hardboiled eggs, and chopped pickles and celery. While it took hours of work, she looked forward to the compliments that would inevitably come as everyone asked for second helpings.
In addition to food preparation for Grandma Nicole’s picnic, the adults in every family made sure their children were clean and presentable. When they were paraded past Grandma, she had a sharp eye. She did not hesitate to point out missing buttons, neglected haircuts, and dirty fingernails. Most of her grandkids changed into a fresh set of clothes and brushed their teeth before leaving for the park.
A five-year-old granddaughter named London received even greater attention than the rest. Nicole did not hide her favoritism toward the little girl and London’s mom knew her daughter was expected to look especially adorable. The weather was too cool for a dress, so her mom put her into a cute yellow jumper with matching yellow shoes.
“Your grandma will want to brush and braid your hair. Please be a sweet girl and let her,” London’s mom said to her daughter.
“But I don’t want my hair braided.”
“If you sit still and get your hair braided, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.”
London’s family was the last to arrive at the park. By the time they walked up carrying a cooler filled with drinks, the grills next to the reserved table were already smoking. The grass underfoot was a dark shade of green and ready to be cut. New leaves covered the shade trees overhead and tulips stood at attention in flowerbeds separating the lawn from the parking lot.
Grandma Nicole sat in a folding camp chair near one end of the reserved table. Kids who had already been inspected by their grandmother played freeze tag while their parents fussed over the food on the grills. A large stainless-steel bowl of Brielle’s famous potato salad sat proudly near the table’s edge closest to Grandma Nicole.
“Oh, there they are!” Nicole shouted as soon as she saw London and her siblings walking toward her. She stood and added, “Come give your grandma a kiss.”
After embracing the other kids, she concentrated on London. “Look at you all in yellow. You’re more beautiful every day!”
London flashed a smile, revealing dimples in her rosy cheeks. Her auburn hair hung past her shoulders with a little curl to it. Her mom had left it hanging instead of in a ponytail.
“Oh, that hair! It’s gorgeous! I had hair like that when I was a little girl. How about letting Grandma brush it for you? I could put it in braids.”
London obediently held out the hair clips she was holding. Her mother produced a brush and Grandma Nicole scrambled to find a short stool. London sat on the stool in front of her grandmother’s folding chair.
“How thick and soft!” Grandma Nicole raved as she pulled the brush through London’s hair. “It glows in the sunlight. So young and healthy. I could just gobble it up.”
London sat patiently and did not complain that the brushing felt hard. Grandma hummed along contentedly with each stroke. Because she pulled so strongly, a few of London’s weakly attached hairs dislodged from their follicles and ended up as wisps streaming from the brush. Grandma stopped long enough to free them from the bristles and toss them carelessly aside. A slight breeze blowing toward the table caught one of the long hairs and carried it upward. After a precarious dance, the hair landed inside the stainless-steel bowl holding Brielle’s potato salad.
Oblivious to the breeze’s havoc, Grandma Nicole continued brushing and then braiding London’s hair. When she was satisfied with two darling braids, she put clips in the ends and called for people to admire her work.
“Stand up and turn around,” she said to London. “What a little beauty queen.”
Satisfied with her granddaughter’s hair styling, Nicole turned her attention to food. She sniffed the air and decided the meat on the grills smelled done.
“Let’s gather around and dig in while the hamburgers are hot! I’ll go first and show you how it’s done.”
Nicole grabbed a paper plate and hamburger bun. She walked to a grill and her son slipped a hamburger patty onto the opened bun. She slowly added pickles, cheese, tomatoes, and catchup. On the side of her plate, she dropped an enormous scoop of Brielle’s potato salad. After encouraging everyone else to fill up their own plates, she returned to her folding chair and called for as many grandkids as possible to gather around her.
Once most people were seated with food, Nicole focused on her plate. She took a large bite from her hamburger and shoved a plastic fork into her potato salad mound. And that’s when she saw it. A long, dark hair sat on top of the bits of potato and pickle.
“Ahh! Everyone stop eating! Brielle, there’s a hair in your potato salad!” Nicole stood up holding her plate like it was on fire.
“What are you screaming about?” Brielle shouted from the other side of the picnic table.
“The potato salad! It’s disgusting. There’s hair in it. Where did you make it, a barn?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the salad! You need to get your eyes checked.”
Nicole took a sharp look at Brielle’s hair before saying, “Come take a look. I’m pretty sure this is your hair on my plate.”
“I had my hair tied back when I was cooking. I guarantee none of my hair touched your salad.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Nicole dramatically dropped her plate on the ground. “Well, I’ve lost my appetite. And I don’t think anyone else should eat the potato salad. There’s probably hair all through it.”
Everyone with potato salad on their plate looked down on it with suspicion.
“The potato salad’s fine!” Brielle shouted. “I spent all morning making it and this is the thanks I get. Well, don’t expect me to ever make it again.”
“Don’t worry,” Nicole replied. “After today, no one will ever ask you to.”
A chill settled over the picnic area as family members quietly picked at their food and pretended not to be bothered by Grandma’s accusations and Brielle’s upset response. In the midst of the silence, London stared at her grandmother’s food plate and then made a loud announcement.
“Grandma, I think that’s my hair on your salad.”
“Don’t be silly, London,” Grandma Nicole said dismissively. “That’s your Aunt Brielle’s hair.”
“No, it’s mine.” London turned toward her mother and said, “Mom, come look.”
A parade of parents and children inspected the hair in the salad and concluded it matched London’s head. Someone pointed out that Grandma Nicole had been brushing London’s hair near the potato salad and a strand probably flew over.
“Yes! That’s it!” Brielle cried. She turned to Nicole and said, “You were going on and on about how much you love London’s hair. If you love it so much, how come you didn’t recognize it?”
“Sure, I love her hair on her head, but I don’t want to eat it,” Nicole replied in a flustered way.
“But Grandma, you said you wanted to gobble my hair up,” London added in her innocent voice.
“That’s just an expression. I didn’t mean it literally.” After a few moments, Nicole looked thoughtfully at her granddaughter and the potato salad. “Funny how something can look so beautiful in the right place and so disgusting in the wrong place.” She turned to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, Brielle. I should have known better. My mouth runs faster than my brain. Please tell me you’ll make your salad again.”
Brielle pretended to think hard about it. “Maybe. If you’ll promise to brush hair downwind.”
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