Bald Faced Liar

The following story falls under the category of why does this crap always happen to me?

My friend B and I took our combined four daughters to the movies on Saturday.  After enjoying Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa,  my youngest daughter, S, decided that her two cups of lemonade warranted a stop at the restroom.  (No, this post does not involve poo.) Before we walked in, a bald pre-teen girl entered the bathroom in front of us.  We had just returned from Disney World the day before, where there are more children with rare genetic disorders  and bizarre physical anomalies having their final wishes come true than anywhere else on earth.  So S was very in tune with this bald girl, asking me under her breath what was wrong with her.  I answered that she probably had cancer, which satisfied her curiosity.  S went into a stall and I stood outside of it, waiting for her to finish.

While S was still occupied, the bald girl came out of her stall and looked at me. "I hate to bother you," she said politely to me, "but do you have three quarters I could have?" She looked over her shoulder at the vending machine near the sinks. "Oh, did you start your period?" I asked her. "Do you mind if I have three quarters?" she asked me again, not answering my question. She looked very earnest, so I dug around in my wallet and produced three coins. She thanked me and walked across the restroom to where the machine hung on the wall.

I continued to wait for S to finish, and glanced over at the girl, who was now standing by the machine and looking back at me.  She appeared confused, so I walked up to her and asked if she needed help. "Well, the thing is, I haven't started my period yet, and I don't know how to use tampons," she said shyly.  I looked at the machine.  Lip balm.  Breath freshening drops.  And OB tampons, which require a different level of user participation, but no pads or pantie liners. She looked at me, her face devoid of any eyebrow or lash, her cheeks flushed either from embarrassment or the extraordinary heat in the bathroom.  I couldn't tell if she meant she had not yet gotten her period this month , or periods in general, but I knew there was no way in hell I was teaching some strange kid how to insert a tampon, cancer or no cancer. 

"Have you not started it yet this month?" I asked for clarification.  "Cause if you think you're going to, you can just stuff some wadded up toilet paper in your panties until you get home. If you aren't comfortable with tampons, I mean."  "Oh, I know that," she said. "I just wanted to be prepared in case it happened. But maybe I could get one of those lip balms?" She pointed at the slot for the lip balm, available in a variety of nauseating fruit flavors, an eager smile on her face. My own smile faded. "No.  You should not ask strangers for money to buy lip balm." Really, you don't.  If you don't have money for lip balm, you shop lift it from the CVS.  She silently dropped the quarters back in my open palm and skulked out of the bathroom. 

I turned around to find S washing her hands behind me at the sink.  She had heard the whole thing. "What was that about, Mommy?"  "I have no idea," I answered her, and truthfully,  I didn't. We walked out and found B and the other girls waiting on a bench. "What's up?" B asked me.  "I think I just got scammed by the bald girl," I told her, and related what happened in the bathroom.  Neither of us could tell if she was truly menstrual, too shy to ask her own family for help, or suffering from severely chapped lips due to the chemotherapy.  But I had this feeling that she was using that bald head of hers for sympathy loose change, and I wasn't falling for it.