She said shaving would do him good, so he shaved, specially for her. His complexion really shone in all its smoothness when he came to pick her up that night, and the fragrance of his after-shave was nice too. And they took in a movie and had a coffee somewhere, and then he drove her home. It was only their second date, so he didn’t try anything, didn’t even ask to come upstairs to her place. And as for her, before she got out of the car, she gave him a gentle little peck on his ruddy cheek. And he smiled awkwardly, and didn’t kiss her back.
She was a girl worth biding your time for. A day would go by, and another, and eventually it would happen. A movie, a coffee, and another movie. One sunset, two bowling sessions, eventually she’d be his.
She said it was nicer with him shaved. The bristles hurt when they rubbed against her body. And now that they’re together, where else would he put his face if not against her body? He couldn't think of anywhere better. He shaved every day, twice a day even. He cut off the bristles before they even started to grow in, letting the prickly skin burn with a kind of reddish warmth. Brushed his teeth all the time too: three times, four, five. Moving the toothbrush up and down and spitting into the basin, then rinsing with water, so there wouldn’t be any toothpaste froth left. He felt so much better afterwards, more aesthetically pleasing, and once a week he even flossed. She wouldn’t have minded kissing him without it, because she loved him, but no one could expect her to put her tongue in a place that smelled bad, or was dirty.
She said the eyebrows bothered her too. It was hard for her lips to slide down his forehead and kiss his eyes. The blade is the same blade after all, and as long as he was shaving anyway, would it really matter? Once a day, twice, sometimes even three times. And he flossed a bit more often too. Bought a whole roll, no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, but seventeen meters long. They rolled it very, very thin, like a sleeping bag that you manage to squeeze down till it’s the size of a baguette. And while he was at it, he’d bought some after-shave too, in a quart-sized bottle, because he’d finished up the last one.
A long time went by. They’d been together for two months already. He just took care of his personal hygiene, and she took care of everything else. Didn’t ask him to do so much as wash a glass. When it came to his chest and below, she didn’t even have to say anything, he could tell at a glance. And as long as he was shaving with every meal, even more, he could do it all. Even eyebrows can sting the tongue of a person in love, someone who loves him smooth, with no corners, no sharp edges. Like all the others he’d met on her living-room floor, so nice and comfortable. At first he mistook them for pink beanbags. He’d seen her sitting on them many times, after all, looking very happy, so he sat on them too. It was so nice and smooth. How did they do it? He wondered, and they told him everything. The sharp edges were because of the bones, and there was this guy in Safed who could pull them right out, backbone and skull and all. It didn’t really hurt. And she’d have it much nicer, which is all that counted really. Just her smile as she sat on him was worth everything.