Better Shorter

With an artful flick and a grand whoosh, the delightful plum-coloured cape sheathed over my bodice. The ends of the cape were pulled over my uncovered, brown shoulders that only had the spaghetti straps of my summer dress to scarcely cover it. The lady of the shop took a moment to pull aside my overgrown locks that crept about my neck with a hand before securing it up with a claw clip, then she could bring the ends of the cape together to clasp it snugly behind my neck. She smoothened out the cloth to ensure my entire body and the chair was thoroughly enveloped, this large landscape ready to collect a yearned harvest. All that’s left to see of myself through the floor-to-ceiling length mirror in front of me was just my head of overgrown waves poking out of the cape and my platforms down the bottom that sat on the chair’s footrest comfortably.

There was plenty of charm to this quaint shop, even if I wasn’t quite able to put a label to it. The swirling candy pole outside told one story, but then the sets of curling rods and the hooded hairdryer stations inside told another. Not even a sign to herald the name of the establishment. Only a neon ‘Open’ sign that was brightly lit out front— and it was more than enough for me to reach out for the handle.

The lady of the shop was a stunning woman, clad in a gorgeous emerald green kaftan that gave a charming illusion of her gliding so majestically. Her black hair was styled in a curly bob that ended just below her cheekbones, where the few maturing lines on her olive skin showed more gentle grace than frailty.

We’d exchanged the usual pleasantries, and in a heartbeat I was welcomed into the comfily padded chair. Once she saw I was settled in, it was right to business. She’d offered to wash my hair, but I insisted it wasn’t necessary considering what I’d had in mind, which quickly led to her popping the big question.

And I’ll admit: I probably gave her a rather vague set of instructions on how short I’d wanted it, but she took up the request in a snap. It seemed to come across crystal clear to her— like she knew exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t hear a hint of hesitation in her voice when she said “of course, Madame” before diving straight into work. And honestly? It filled me with enough confidence. Something about the way she carried herself felt like I wasn’t going to leave the shop dissatisfied. Although I guess that probably wasn’t a hard thing to do since my only real goal was to get a lot of this length off my head by the time I’m out of this chair.

She undid the clip at the back of my head, letting my dark brown hair at the back fall to graze my cape-covered shoulders. This had all been a fun experiment— something I told myself I might as well try ever since my usual stylist back home had moved out of town, and I’d procrastinated the toil of finding a new stylist. So I let it all grow.

What was once a wispy, wavy pixie wss now a haphazardly long bob, where the layers at the back were far longer than what was only creeping down to my jaw. My once-short bangs eventually grew out too and turned themselves into curtains— curtains that I have to keep drawing and pushing apart to keep it all out of my face. I was always too lazy to invest in some clips, though I guess deep down I just wanted to be rid of it.

All I’m left with staring back at my reflection is something of a shaggy, kinda mullety mess that just looked like it was way past due for a trim. And it seemed like I wasn’t going to be waiting long to get it as the stylist already began sectioning off my hair. She pinned up those large sections around the top and sides, leaving just the back section free to probably start with. I let out a little shiver as I felt the spritzes of water against my neck, and her comb beginning to slide through those overgrown locks. I watched her set the spray bottle down, then pick up her shears.

Snip snip snip.

“Oh,” I let out in soft shock— not loud enough that she’d caught it— when I realised she’d just dug right in. The warning only came after.

“I start cutting, ya?” she piped up from behind. Though it was more an announcement than asking for permission as I’d heard the blades go snip snip snip yet again, slicing through the hair behind my neck.

“Of course!” I assured, even though she probably didn’t need it. And it’s not that I’d really needed much of a warning anyway. Although come to think of it, maybe there was someone that could’ve used the warning. A tiny smile perked at the edge of my lips, now realising what a big surprise Zev was in for when I got home later.

**

I huffed a sigh when my eyes met the departure board at the station. It was a stubborn habit of mine to always show up at least an hour before a scheduled train ride home— have some leeway to sit down, grab a snack, make sure all my stuff’s in order. And now that the train’s been delayed a full hour, well. Seems that’s a lot of time to kill.

I headed back to the atrium before seating myself somewhere close to the entrance of the station. I got my phone out, ready to call Zev like I always do before a train ride (and mentally preparing myself for the earful I’m gonna get from them about deserving this for being awfully early). I fixed on my earbuds, then right after pressing the ‘call’ button I grunted— pushing my overgrown bangs off to either side of my face as the winds heralding the start of fall decided to pick a battle.

“Hellooo, got to the train station, my darling?” their soothing voice certainly calmed the frustration a bit as I begrudgingly tucked my hair behind my ears.

“Yep. Too early, though,” I dragged.

“Aren’t you always?” 

“Well, to be fair I was on perfect time to being just an hour early, but now the train’s delayed. So I’m about two hours early.” The winds refused to let up, and I found myself picking up my suitcase and tote bag to get up and head somewhere deeper into the station. I spotted the row of shops in the station, where I’d hoped I might find some place more ‘indoors’ to retreat from this losing battle. “I’m sorry, I probably won’t be home in time to make dinner.” 

“Aww,” they said with nary a hint of remorse, nor disappointment. Instead, they cheerily said, “That’s a real bummer, seems like I have to make dinner. A shame, really.”

“Sure, darling, you win this time— but the dishes are mine,” I resolutely said, eyes still peeled for solace in the station.

“You can try,” I could already hear the meticulous schemes afoot in their voice. “Hope you don’t get too bored waiting around at the station.” 

“We’ll see,” I said before my eye caught a glimpse of a swirling pole at the end of the row of the shops. “I’ll text you when I’m on the train later. See you soon, handsome.”

By the time the call beeped off, my legs had already carried me to the front of the shop, peeping through the large glass window. A couple hours to kill, and a promise of safety from the annoying wind outside? Might as well run a small errand. 

**

Snip snip snip. After every few slices, she unclips another hefty section from the back— spritzing it adequately before diving in. Her comb simply lifted up whatever bulk of hair it could pick up, then click go the shears across whatever poked through the teeth of that comb. She’s barely started, but I can already feel the weight of those severed locks just trickling down my neck, occupying that little space of the cape between my body and the backrest of the chair.

By the time she’s about done with that last bit at the back of my head, I can already feel it being that much lighter. From the reflection, the ends weren’t grazing my cape-covered shoulders anymore— the only hair touching them is what’s already cut off!

She took a moment to give it an unceremonious dusting with her comb, raining some of those ample locks down onto the floor before stepping over them to start on my left side. She unclipped the first bit, combing down those locks that went fully over my ears and ended around my jaw. After a few spritzes of water, I watched in crystal clear view as she lifted that section with the comb generously above my ear, then opened those shears.

Snip snip snip.

A shiver shook through me now that I could finally see it: sizeable wavy locks plummeting down onto the cape where they slid right down towards my lap. But it wasn’t so much a shiver of fright, but more of exhilaration. All that hair I’d been holding onto for god knows how long, finally let go. And I loved that she never once stopped— she just kept in her flow state to bring up another section, and give me the haircut I’d brazenly asked for.

Every chunky snip sent a bundle of my hair down onto the cape where it was starting its mound, and all that’s left behind are wisps that are left just shy of the top of my ears. Way too short for me to even have to tuck them behind.

“Taking the train home, Madame?” she broached the small topics, my suitcase I’d left by the waiting area probably cluing her in more than enough.

“Yep! Was in town for a quick work trip, headed back home now.” I didn’t mind a bit of small talk— something to fill the air a little, even if hearing those snips sumptuously getting rid of the bulk on my head was music enough. “Train got delayed though, so I thought I’d get a little haircut since I’ve got time to kill,” I continued, tickling my own whimsy at the suggestion of how ‘little’ this all was.

I maybe sensed a chuckle out of her before she asked, “you like our town? Very small, ya?”

“It’s very charming, I really enjoyed my stay,” I said earnestly while watching her transitioning to the right side of my head to start unpinning the hair to be spritzed. “Business must be good here? Lots of faces coming in and out of the station every day.”

“Good enough for me to keep shop for 25 years and counting,” she sounded proud, and rightfully so. Her comb found its way into the hair that was laid down, lifting it up just above my right ear. “So many new faces every day. Never boring.”

Snip snip snip. Snip snip snip.

The sides weren’t taking as much time for her to chop off, but it gave the most spectacle for me to watch every second play out. Large chunks of hair were just raining down my side, precariously teetering on that space of my caped shoulder. All it took was a little twitch of my shoulder to send those pesky locks sliding down to join the others in my lap, where they won’t be bothering me anymore.

Before I knew it, both my ears were free of the tyranny of my hair, and all that length I’d been tucking my ears in frustration was left on the cape. It’s funny how I haven’t even been in this chair for that long. And looking down, there lay a mound of my woes from the past few months. All gathered in my lap, never to touch my head again, and soon to only litter the floor before it’s swept away.

Soon enough, she finally undid that last, pinned section at the front near my forehead, combing down the entire span of my overgrown bangs that desperately needed to be acquainted with her shears. She stood in front of me now, ready with her shears to bring this last part of me back to shape. The scissors started from one side, positioned around my eyebrows, and that was when I took the cue to gently shut my eyes. Even without sight, I’d never felt more confident in what was to come— knowing that the next time I opened my eyes, it would be to a different me.

Snip snip snip. Snip snip snip.

I felt those pesky locks that had been the bane of my eyes rain down past my face, irking me for the last time before slipping down to their rightful resting place on the cape. In almost no time she worked across my forehead to relieve me of those lengthy bangs. I just knew exactly when to open my eyes right as she was done for the moment, and a bright grin immediately formed on my lips once I saw myself.

Now this feels so much more familiar. Her hand runs through all that’s left on on top, letting that bowlish pixie look flutter flatteringly around my head. Everything was cut in a soft line all around my head, with the ends of my hair now just grazing the top of my ears and my eyebrows now. We’ve still got a ways to go with the length, but I know we’re on the right track. Feels like coming home.

She takes but a moment to appreciate this first, rough cut she’s done, then quickly jumps back into work. She worked from side to side, and while she did take smaller snips than that first bout she did, I noticed her working fingers so close to my head this time. In a blur, I watched as that bowlish splendour was whittled down to a tighter, head-hugging crop.

“You said you want short bangs, Madame?” She piped up as the teeth of her comb slid through the locks on my forehead once more.

“Yes!” I said maybe too excitedly. “Really short. Hate it when it keeps getting in my eyes. And then the wind just messes it up everywhere- urgh. I’m too lazy to clip it up.”

She looked very amused by my overly zealous determination. She tousled those ample bangs that still grazed across my eyebrows with her fingers before saying, “of course, Madame. I cut very short for you.”

She carefully gave those bangs a little spritz with the spray bottle, leaving a hand near my brows to shield my eyes from the water. She then combed it all up carefully, clamping the length between her forefingers before her scissors continue their work.

Snip snip snip. Snip snip snip.

Yet again, my eyes instinctively knew when to shut themselves. It takes a little bit longer this time as I felt her going over the bangs a few times with the shears, slowly carving it out into the perfect length. And yet again, I just know when the right time was to open my eyes and see the gorgeous result of her work.

There she is— those spunky, baby bangs back where they used to be. My lips can’t help but quirk into a smile seeing that piece back in place. The ends hung around the midpoint of my forehead, where they curled up gently to flaunt my natural waviness. I always knew I was a baby bangs kinda woman, but I didn’t think I’d miss them that much. Seeing them finally framing my face so elegantly after so long made me feel complete, and god knows how I’d been able to live without that piece of me during this past growout year. It’s the perfect length that’ll let it sweep playfully about the middle of my forehead without ever getting in my eyes, and also leaving that ample bit of skin on my forehead between my thick brows and the ends of the bangs that frame my face so familiarly.

Amidst that joy, my smile dampened when I saw her amply comb up the front section one more time. My eyes glanced all the way up as her fingers clamped down close to my scalp while it held the rest of my short bangs, ready for another round of the scissors to go in. Was this one of those ’say when’ cues I’d missed? Was she just lightly trimming the ends to shape it better? For the first time since I sat in the chair, worry swirled in me.

Snip snip. Snip snip.

My heart skipped a beat hearing those sizable snips, chopping into the baby bangs I’d been adoring and had only just been reacquainted with for the briefest moment. I’m forced to squint as soft clippings rain down my face. Before I could open my eyes to see the aftermath, she appeared in front of me— blocking my view to the mirror as she got a closer look at my forehead to comb down what remained of the front. She let out a low giggle after seeing my squinting demeanour, then gently dusted off some of those loose clippings that still hung around my nose with her fingers. “I cut some more. Close your eyes, Madame,” she advised. And I obeyed.

The steel of the scissors sent a chill across my forehead as she made much more careful snips, point-cutting their way through my bangs. I could feel the icy point of the scissors squarely at the top of my forehead, ghastly close to where my hairline began as she fully chipped into the weight of whatever’s left there. Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long for it to grow back to that nice length, right? Surely. But I’ll just have to be walking around with a much shorter set of bangs (if we could even call it that at this point!) for the time being. I guess they really won’t be getting in my eyes for a while— I got what I asked for, after all. It felt like forever, but she eventually combed it all back down, then pinched it gently with her fingers, as if putting it into place. “Very nice,” she said before I sensed her stepping aside, and that’s when I dared to open my eyes.

Oh my god. Who is she? As the stylist went back into a flurry with the scissors going through the rest of my hair, I’m just left to gaze at this mesmerising image that stared back at me. Those gentle, playful bangs were long gone, and in their stead, something bolder. Everybody knows baby bangs are already such a commitment to make— needing that confidence to pull off something that puts your face under the full spotlight with its stark framing, without any promise of shelter to hide anything. But this. This was a statement.

A set of micro bangs that was cut in a soft textured line near the top of my forehead— at least an inch or so shorter than I’m used to. It’s so short that my waviness hardly comes through, with only the slightly longer length towards the top of my head that could tell that story about my hair. I don’t think I’d have the guts in me to ever sit in a stylist’s chair, pointing that high up to my forehead to say “this short, please”. And yet here I was— with the shortest set of bangs I’d ever had, leaving so much more of my forehead and face left revealed to the world. And as the tension of fear slowly released from my body as I got even more acquainted with this new part of me, I knew not a single ounce of me hated it.

It was never a worry of mine that this refined lady of the shop was going to cut my hair into something (and I hate to use this word) ugly. Rather, it was a fear that she would’ve thrust something so audacious yet exquisite that I would’ve felt myself unworthy of carrying such a statement. But she did take that leap. And I got something I didn’t exactly ask for, but I only had myself to blame for my flustered state of wanting to be rid of that hair I’d had on my head the moment I sat myself in her chair. She’d heard my brazenly vague request, and she thought such a daringly chic look was appropriate. Almost as if she knew right off the bat that I could pull it off— right from the moment I’d sat in that chair and asked for that mop to be cropped.

But by the time she was about done, I was staring at a completely different woman altogether. I could firmly say this was the shortest length of hair I’d ever had on my head— and I’m not just talking about the bangs. The sides were closely cut to my head, all with her skillful technique with the scissors. In most of my days wearing a short pixie, my old stylist used to leave it a lot wispier— almost feathery on the sides and back that I could still run my fingers through it and feel its wavy texture everywhere. But looking back at this head of hair I’ve got now, I’d be surprised if I could even really run my fingers through it to even comfortably grab onto anything. And almost like she’s read my mind, the stylist comes about to give my hair a ruffle to see how it all moves. But there’s no flutter— it’s just too short for that.

With that, she announced, “All done, Madame. Let me show you.” She picked up the smaller mirror from one of the dressers to start showing me the back. Just like the sides it was short but soft, with just a head-hugging silhouette left and some tiny wisps near the base of the neck so it didn’t risk looking rugged. “You have such beautiful neck, Madame. Must show off,” she complimented before sliding a hand down from my nape towards my neck, and it was a delightful shiver I got realising that not a single lock was touching it anymore.

“Thank you,” I said, still flustered.

“You like? Very nice and short. Simple, but stylish.”

“I like it,” I started small with a smile, and yearned to find out more with a closer, tactile inspection. I almost startled myself when I sent a sizeable chunk of loose hair sliding down to the floor after too excitedly getting a hand out from under the cape. But my hand soon found the landscape of new textures on my head. I think just ‘liking’ it was an understatement.

A soft, melodic hum left my throat when I started rubbing the back of the nape. I adored how short and soft it was— barely any length to really try and grab on, yet still with its tiny, gentle wispiness near the edges at the base of the neck to add some flair. The sides weren’t much different, and that meant my ears were free from the torment of hair touching it for a good while. Then comes the top, which I’d been thinking about ever since she’d taken those scissors so high up my forehead. My hands nervously skirted about, starting from the top layers to feel where my waves could still show a bit of their character. And what a thrill— the way it’s been left just long enough for me to feel that texture, yet cut so short I could barely grab on to a lock before I felt it slip out of my grasp. I guess Zev’s gonna have a bit of a challenge in bed with this now.

Soon enough, my hands found their way to the main attraction that I couldn’t stop staring at since it happened. I gave those micro bangs a little nudge with my fingers. And nothing. It just settled itself back into place so easily, unlike the longer baby bangs I’d been used to that would’ve still fluttered around.

“You wanted very short bangs, yes? Now too short to become messy,” she chimed in after seeing me play with it.

“No kidding,” I giggled, still in a shock and awe at how short it was. Yet somehow, with a breeze of vigour, out of my lips came, “I love it.” It was a new addition to the tapestry that was my hair, and there wasn’t a part of me that could loathe it. She’d pressed it into my hands with full confidence, and I think I was going to get along with this new look famously. “Don’t have to think about it at all,” I reinforced with a few more prods of those short locks that framed my forehead so starkly, remembering it was what I’d asked for.

“Come, I show you how you can style a bit. Very short, but can still play with it a bit,” the stylist said, and I quickly slid my hand back under to let her demonstrate. “You can part whichever side you like— left or right, both works. Short enough that it will follow along,” she said as she pulled the bangs either side, and true enough it could follow along to give a soft, parted look. “Usually you can just leave it down nicely, can also lift up a bit here. And maybe sometimes, use a bit of product.” She got out a bit of product to rub in her palms, then started fingering it through most of my hair, focusing on the top and front where most of the texture really could shine through with that bit of moisture and hold.

“I like the bangs just laying down naturally, actually,” I said, and she acquiesced— pinching down those points of my microbangs to frame the face gorgeously. Its short and simple, and I love how it’s pulled down about as straight down as it can, and it’s just nowhere close to being able to touch my brows. I’m actually so thrilled knowing I’m going to enjoy these next few months without having to worry about sweeping hair out of my face.

She then revved the hairdryer to life, starting to put the finishing touches. It’s amusing that hardly any of my locks are moving— absolutely nothing making a mess and going all over the place. A brief preview of my next battle with the wind outside. It didn’t take long before she turned it off to put it back on its hook, then carefully made sure the bangs were still in its perfect state of laying down, just like I’d wanted it.

“Very easy cut, but also very stylish. You look like model, Madame,” she complimented, and it was getting harder to suppress the blushes.

The cape was whisked off, revealing my figure that now seemed that much more exposed, brown skin shown off with that strappy summer dress and a great lack of hair to hide anything. She gently flicked the cape off to the side, sending those pesky locks shimmering down onto the floor like the autumnal leaves of a tree. Shedding all that old growth, glistening for a fresh start. And I can’t get over that liberating feeling of moving my head around, all without the sensation of hair tickling the back of my neck. The way that I could shrug my shoulders without a single lock touching it anymore.  Freedom.

I couldn’t help but stare back for a bit longer. It’s a stunning image of myself, now without that cape in the way for me to finally see it all. I look… older. But not in the way that too many people try to make out to be some awful tragedy— it’s more like coming into myself, knowing what’s good for me. Maybe looking too youthful is just something to let go of. I could only help maturity would agree with me the same way it did for the architect of such a delightful work of art. She may have made me look a bit more my age, but I think she herself knew it was something worth taking pride in rather than shying away from.

“Slowly, madame. Your head very light now,” she offered a hand when she saw me try to climb out of the chair, and I firmly accepted. Carefully stepping off the footrest and onto the scattered, dark locks of mine that were once on my head, now left on the shop floor.

I immediately went for my purse to get some money to pay, but also couldn’t help stealing a glance at the mirror every couple seconds. It’s addicting just seeing myself. I paid her handsomely, and just before we bade farewell she gave me a round of cheek-to-cheek kisses. “Safe trip home, Madame. I hope we meet again.”

“So do I. Thank you so much.”

*

It was a little over half an hour till my train arrived, but waiting around didn’t feel so bad now. I got myself tea at the station cafe, seating myself by the outside tables to enjoy the charm of the little town before having to say goodbye. And with every breeze of autumn’s coming flowing my way, it was no longer a battle. Instead, it felt like a welcoming breath of fresh air— feeling the soothing wind just caressing my head, now with that short pelt of hair being so resistant to any of its disruptions. I still couldn’t help myself but to check my reflection in the glass window of the cafe every once in a while, and every time I look back it’s all still kept so neatly on my head.

Even after I’d gotten in my seat on the train, I had to stop myself from catching too many glimpses of myself through the subtle reflections in the window. it continued all the way back home, and I was afraid I was gonna be a traffic hazard craning my neck to any reflective surface that I could capture even a smidge of my head. Thankfully I made it safely back to my apartment building, silently unlocking the house door.

And there Luna was, already sat expectantly in front of the door like she always did, knowing exactly the moment I would return. Something about a cat’s sixth sense to know when you’re already a few steps away from the door. I quietly bent down to give her a hearty pet which she embraced, then pressed a finger to my lip while mouthing ‘shh’. I left my bags by the door, then prowled along with her into the kitchen, where Zev was none the wiser— engrossed in that rare bit of cooking they got the chance to do.

I eyed my opening to slither forward, then pounced. I gently placed my hands over their eyes, feeling that sudden gasp leave their lips, which simmered down once they’d quickly recognised the disturbance in their midst. “If this is how I go out, I’d be happy— you can put it on my tombstone: ‘at least I made dinner’,” they joked, hand letting go of the spatula before carefully touching my wrist.

“You may have that victory for today,” I conceded gracefully with a peck on their fuzzy nape. “Now, I’m going to take my hands off, but I want you to keep your eyes closed, okay?” I instructed.

“Oooh,” there was a curiosity oozing from them, and I could sense the smile forming on their face. I’m sure they wanted to pry. But they relented with a simple “okay”.

I slowly moved my hands away from their face, then gingerly picked up both their hands with each of my own. I started from my shoulders, letting their fingers touch that bareness that only had the straps of my dress on. I let those hands linger there for a moment, and they’d probably already started to clock the difference— the fact that my wavy locks weren’t dangling that low anymore to feel it against the back of their hands.

Then we move in. I felt them sucking in a deep breath as those fingers climbed up the back of my neck, the realisation finally kicking in for them that whatever should be there is long gone. And once those fingers touched the base of my nape, where only the tiniest wisps of short hair were left cropped against my nape, that’s when I heard the breathy “oooh” coming out of them.

Up and up those fingers climbed, and there’s a sound of amusement when they realise all the lengths are so very short all over— too short for their fingers to curl up to get a firm grasp. The exhilarating realisation that the last time they saw me before my work trip was the last time they’d seen me with a longer head of hair. Well, maybe not the last time, what with the future still to be written and all. Although, this delightfully cropped cut was surely going to keep me in the ’short’ club for a good while. If not forever.

“I guess someone kept themself busy while waiting for a late train,” they said with mirth.

“Lots of time to kill, might as well get a little haircut,” I playfully said, and adored the chuckle that it got out of them. “Alright, I’m gonna let you look at it now, and you can be as honest as you like. You can probably already tell it’s short— like, real short. Shorter than what I used to get when Gina was still in town. Now, I love it, and I have enough self-esteem to be comfortable in that. You are totally allowed to say you hate it— there’s no need to lie.”

“My darling, you could pull off anything, and now that you’ve given me this whole disclaimer I’m even more excited cos you’ve never been this serious about it,” I could feel them thrumming with an eagerness.

“I just thought it was fair to give a late heads-up, since I did do this quite out of the blue,” I said. “Go ahead then.”

My stomach seemed to churn endlessly in that eternal second they turned to look at me. Their eyes were still closed, and only once they’d wrap their hands around my waist did they gently open to see. “Mamacita,” it salaciously rolled out of their mouth.

I blinked. “That’s a new one,” I couldn’t quite hide a smile, borne from amusement and… flattery? “Is that an implicit call for me to be the mother of your children?”

Their boisterous laugh filled the kitchen. “You’re already the best mom to Luna. And besides, you do enough as the fun aunt,” they said, then let out a hearty sigh. “You are gorgeous, Anita. I could stare at you all day.”

“Good. Don’t do anything else— just keep staring all the way till after dinner, and stare at me doing the dishes too, yeah?” I teased.

“Oh, you’ll be surprised how much I can get done while still staring at you,” Zev challenged. “Now come, help me set the table while I stare at you doing that too.”