No matter how much he puffed out his chest, he was unable to eradicate its concave curvature without bending over backwards. A pair of knobby toothpicks slammed into the top of his vanity as he grunted in frustration.

"Hey, you. You are a sexy, sexy man." He puffed up a breath to peek between the thick bangs that hung across his eyes. Contacts: check. High-end label polo and pants: cinched tightly on with a belt to keep from falling off his lanky frame, but check.

"She loves it. She didn't mean what she said. You don't really have to get rid of it. You don't…" He fingers the scissors in front of him.

If there was anyone that could still rock the bowl cut, it was him. Right?

A/N: So Curly…although I heart Arnold n' Helga, Curly is my absolute fav. He's cute and kooky…and now apparently questioning his bowl cut for the first time in his young life (I think it's adorable, IMO).

This fic is actually reflecting something I did back in the daaaayyyy in middle school—cute boy pal of mine told me he thought I'd look good with short hair. What did I do—go to a hairdresser? At least plan it out? Nope—started cutting chunks off at chin length that night until my mother opened my door (much to her horror and my eventual chagrin). Ah, memories…so much fun laughing at the silly things I used to do…:-P

Okey doke, off topic…I don't own Curly (or HA!), but I shall make a stuffed animal in his likeness and call him George, and love him and squeeze him and…and I hope somebody either gets the Steinbeck or the Looney Tunes reference. :-)