modern day Delilah

In my twenties I had a boyfriend with long, blond hair that he mostly wore pulled back in a pony tail. I mean, his hair was enviable…a super model would have been jealous of his natural gift. But he was a man’s man and, while he kept clean, certain types of grooming were lost on him.

I volunteered many times to trim his hair with the pure mission of removing his split ends. It was weeks, if not months, before I was ever able to convince him. He was suspicious of my motives. He reacted as though he thought I was trying to change him, trying to castrate him, to weaken him somehow, as though I were Delilah to his Samson.

A couple of months later I again had to persuade him to allow me near his locks with a scissors.

But, after that, it seemed only a few weeks went by before he asked me to trim his hair again.

“Hmm. This is strange,” I thought, “It took weeks to convince him to let me near his hair the first couple of times, and now he’s practically begging me to trim it.”

So I asked him what was up.

He gave me some phony answer about getting lots of compliments and feeling good about it. Finally, though, the truth came out:  he recalled that we’d had mind-blowing sex after the first two times he’d allowed me to trim his hair, and he’d now made the association that we were going to make especially intense love after I’d trimmed his hair.

I’m not sure two instances are a valid foundation on which to adopt this sort of theory, but there’s a reason this memory recently came to mind:  This time, my guy would probably tell you it has to do with yard work.

 

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