"Oh..." She knew her hair was hard to do anything with other than let it flow. People doing anything to her hair made questions. Questions made her squirm. She didn't remember.
Something happened once with hair and scissors and a lady with short black hair... but it was a ghost of a recollection. An awareness without a solid memory.
"My hair is... difficult." Truth. Molly didn't like telling untruths. She was horrible at it because she didn't remember them. So truth was always best, if edited.
"But make up... that sounds as fun as dress up. I'm bad at anything other than liner, mascara, and gloss."