The Things That Girls Do
"Omigosh, will you LOOK at that hot body!" My girlfriend gushed in delight as she watched the broad chest of Jiro Wang fill MY TV screen.
I glanced up from my book, irritated. "I really don't see the appeal," I noted dryly.
Her eyes were fixated on the screen. "Of course not, because you're a guy. If you were, then I wouldn't be here."
"Thank you for that deduction, Sherlock. But I—"
"Cue fangirl scream right here," she interrupted, pointing excitedly at the screen. I looked up, just in time to see Jiro somebody-or-other smile a sickenly sweet—or, in my girlfriend's eyes, adorably cute—smile at the camera.
"And I supposed that's Jiro," I said sarcastically, scowling at the image. Was I . . .jealous?
"ACTUALLY, that's Ryeowook, or Wookie," she said, just as sarcastically.
The name rang a bell. "Isn't that the guy from one of those Korean boy bands?" I asked curiously.
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you knew," she muttered, looking impressed.
"Well, anyone with a JB hairstyle and is in a boy band is totally gay."
I could practically see the smoke coming out of her eyes and realized too late that I had done something that I was going to regret.
"Are. You. Calling. Super. Junior. Gay?"
"I didn't—" But off she went, unleashing a long and loud string of arguments to prove her point. I winced and put my fingers in my ears. Word of advice: Never, ever anger your girlfriend like that.
When it looked like she was done, I unplugged my ears. "Is it over?" I asked meekly.
She threw me a look. "You know," she said suddenly, "I have this theory that guys call people like Justin Bieber and One Direction gay because they're jealous that so many girls like them. So. . are you?"
I fought to hide the blush that crept up from my neck. "Of. . .of course not," I mumbled. "I'm. . .uh. . .going to go to bed."
I yanked off my t-shirt and grabbed my pyjama top, only to find her staring at me in shock.
I felt myself redden. "What?"
"I. . I. . ." she gestured uselessly. "I figured that you'd change in the BATHROOM, like a NORMAL person, and not right HERE, in front of my very own eyes!" Her voice rose with every word, reaching hysteria.
"So what? It's not like. . . Oh." Realization struck me. "So you've never seen me. . . like this before?"
She shook her head mutely.
"Uh. . . . . ." We stared at each other for that longest time until she spoke.
"You . . . .have abs," she said, matter-of-factly.
"Well, they're not a six-pack. . .wait." I frowned. "Didn't you say that contrary to popular belief, girls don't like abs?"
"Nope, just that they're not as important. Besides, we have stereotypes to maintain." She gazed hungrily at them before shooting out a hand and running it over them. And what happened next. . .we'll leave to your imagination.
So maybe it wasn't a bad evening after all.
"Since you've already gone second base, why can't I?"
I was greeted with silence. And then. . the sound of a slap echoed through the room.
"Forget that I ever asked. . ."
And maybe it WAS a bad evening after all.