When Donald, tipped back in his office chair, buried under reports he refused to read and a forefinger stiff and sore from tweeting, finally began to snore, the hair dropped from his head to the Oval Office desk and landed in a flurry of white jagged flakes.

“You have dandruff!” the hat said and began laughing.

“I do not!” the hair said angrily.

“That,” the hat replied, jerking his bill toward the white flakes. “That is dandruff.”

“No, it isn’t!” The hair shot out hairs in all directions that gathered the white flakes under him protectively.

“Then what is it?”

The hair mumbled, settling down on the flakes like they were dozens of tiny eggs to keep warm.

“What was that?” the hat asked. “What did you say?”

“They are dried skin flakes–if you must know–from Donald’s scalp.”

“That’s dandruff!”

“No, it isn’t.”

“That’s the literal definition of dandruff! You have dandruff! You’re disgusting!”

“I don’t have dandruff,” the hat said, “Donald has dandruff. I usually take care of it for him, but there has been a lot lately.”

“Take care of it?” he hat asked.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” the hair said primly.

“What does that mean?”

“Just never you mind.”

“No, I want to know. I ride on that head too. If I’m in danger of getting dandruff I have a right to know.”

“You can’t get dandruff.”

“You said you couldn’t get dandruff and just look at yourself! You should be wearing a hairnet! We should mandate hairnets!”

“I don’t need a hairnet. They aren’t very effective anyway.”

“Dandruff,” the hat said. “On me. Dandruff on me!’ a shiver of revulsion ran through his whole cotton body.

The hair sighed heavily. “I take care of it, as I said. With no harm to myself, I metabolize most of it.”

“Metabolize it?” the hat asked.

“Well, in your crude understanding of it, you would say that I eat it.”

“EAT IT? YOU EAT DANDRUFF! THAT’S DISGUSTING!”

“Lower your voice!”

“I will not!” the hat said. “You’re a fucking dandruff eater!”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Wait. Where’re all the flakes that were on the table? Are you eating them right now?!?” The hat lashed out with his band, caught the edge of the desk, and pulled himself over to the floor. “DISGUSTING!” he yelled under the desk.

“It’s just skin flakes, and some sebaceous secretions,” the hair said around a mouthful. “And some fungus.”

“FUNGUS?!?” the hat under the desk said. “DOUBLE DISGUSTING!”

“Oh, calm down,” the hair said.

“We’re in the re-election fight of our lives!” the hat said. “And we’ve got China virus attacks on two fronts–COVID and fucking TikTok–and the economy is in the absolute shitter and you are eating goddamn dandruff!”

The hat rolled over on his side and pouted. In the silence, he could hear the quiet munching of the hair on the desk above him.

“You said ‘most,’” the hat said quietly. “You eat ‘most.’ What happens to the rest of it?”

“I store some in his ears for when I get snacky,” the hair said. “It’s… it’s delicious.”

“And the rest?”

“I drop it down the back of his shirt. After it ages on the small of his back, it gets soft…”

“Stop,” the hat said.

“…and takes on a really intense nutty flavor.”

“Stop,” the hat said. “Stop. Please stop.”