I Wanna Feel The Wind Flowing Through My Hair

I decided the other day that I would play a little trick on Allan; partly because he's gullible and partly because I'm a malevolent psycho whose beast. It was a nice afternoon, we were lying around in his room, both of us procrastinating the pressing matters of homework and responsibility.

"Al, you know what I decided? Lately I've started to realize that all those things I used to care so much about are so trivial. Like what other people think of me, if I'm looking hot or presentable. I don't know, there's something so fake about being the person you think others want you to be."

I was trying to go so far into the stereotypical "university changed my outlook on life" paradigm, and I knew he would eat it all up. I wanted to knock the wind out of him so I took it a little further. I could tell he was beginning to worry that I was going to drop some kind of bomb.

"Yeah, so basically I'm choosing to stop shaving my legs."

I pulled up my pant leg to show him my unshaved in probably two months leg hair, and I'm half Spanish so my hair is pretty lusciously dark. He looked at my leg, then slowly moved his eyes upward until he reluctantly met my gaze. I stared back at him with the most beautifully executed earnest look. I smiled.

"Not gonna shave your legs? Er...cool."

At this point I'm thoroughly enjoying myself; Allan is in so much pain. I knew very well that he wasn't going to try to talk me out of my new endeavour because that would be somehow, on some level, demanding that I conform to biased norms (if I were to put it into some politically correct context). It was perfect, arresting, and he was incontrovertibly cornered.

"So baby, are you gonna wear skirts and stuff in the summer?"

"Yeah ofcourse, it'll be so hot. Don't worry you can hardly notice it (ridiculous lie)."

I could only explain his facial expression as the look of someone trying to shit out a kitchen chair. He's never been much of a liar. I gave him a big hug and told him how much better I felt to be past that image is everything kind of bullshit. He was silent.

A few hours later I couldn't help but notice how down Allan was, he looked positively depressed. It was time for phase 2 of my plan: obliviousness.

"Babe what's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing! Oh nothing, hah, did you think something was wrong? No, no, no. Nothing."

"Alright Al, let's not play the couple anger game."

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"No? What's wrong? Nothing. What's wrong? Nothing. What's wrong? Well...Let's just pretend I've asked you what's wrong 17 times, you've said nothing 17 times, and then now we've fast forwarded to number 18 where you actually tell me what's bothering you."

Allan looked up at me, his eyes without a trace of happiness. He was deep in thought, most likely contemplating whether or not he should say the very thing that may result in crushing me. He had very few options that would result in anything good, he knew this too well. Allan is a gambling man however, a great player of poker, he had risked before. I could detect more than a little apprehension and blatant fear. My insides were smiling.

"Carm...I...It's just that..."

He was practically choking with indecision. What came next was among the meekest of utterances.

"But I like it when you shave your legs," said Allan as he braced himself for the explosion. He climbed into his bomb shelter, quickly closed the ceiling door latch with an abrupt "clank". He closed his eyes.

"Al, I was joking."

He opened his eyes and grinned. He got that irresistible twinkle in his eyes that only comes when he's just finished updating his computer. He hugged me so hard and told me he'd make me something to eat.

Needless to say, I still haven't shaved my legs. Yeah, hot.