or Longing for the Blue Lagoon
Supercilious Pillow Talk
by
K.C.D.L. (AKA Toblerone)
It is morning, a man and a woman lie in bed together facing each other.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” she asks.
“Ah, umm, I don’t want to say, it’s silly…”
“Go on, tell me,” she pleads.
He opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it, opens it again and then says:
“Okay. I think you have very sexy eyebrows.”
She considers this.
“That is….really a very weird thing to say. Personally I think they could do with a pluck.”
“Oh no, I love your eyebrows the way they are!”
“That was rather emphatic. You really think my disgusting hairy eyebrows are sexy?”
“They aren’t disgusting and hairy. I honestly think most girls over-pluck their eyebrows.”
“You seem to have thought about this a lot. Oh god, I’m dating an eyebrow fetishist aren’t I?”
“I am not a fetishist. It’s not like you’ve got a couple of caterpillars up there. It isn’t like I’ve got a thing for Frida Kahlo or anything. Yours are just more natural looking than most girls, I like that.”
“Oh, well maybe I should stop shaving my legs and pits as well?”
“No, I wouldn’t go quite that far. You always have to take a compliment and twist it around. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Frankly I’m glad you did. Now I know what I’m dealing with here: an eyebrow-crazed sexual deviant!”
There is a short silence.
“Do you still love me anyway?”
“Maybe. I think so. I think I can learn to live with it. I’ll feel weird if I catch you staring at my eyebrows though.”
“I’ll stare at your breasts then, will that make you happy?”
“Yes, yes it would,” she pauses “Who the hell is Frida Kahlo?”
“She was a famous mono-browed nymphomaniac.”
“Oh, the one Selma Hayek played, I remember now. Well I wouldn’t mind looking like Selma.”
“Nah, I like you better. Your boobs are smaller.”
“So I’ve got hairy eyebrows and small boobs, is that what you’re saying? You’re not painting a very attractive picture here.”
“Umm, I think it’s time we got up and made breakfast.”
“Okay, but don’t think you’ve wheedled your way out of this conversation.”
“No ma’am.”
“I really think we need to get to the bottom of this psychosis.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Miles away in his semi-preserved childhood bedroom, a poster of a young Brooke Shields curls slightly.