You're slowly roused out of a sound sleep by a gentle tugging on your scalp. As you open your eyes and adjust to the morning light, memories of last night come to the fore.
Your girlfriend isn't in bed beside you. You turn yourself slowly around and are surprised to see a thick sandy-haired braid trailing off the bed from where your head lies. Your girlfriend is sitting on the floor against the bed, her back to you. Now and again the end of the braid trailing off the bed shifts slightly.
You pull yourself to the bed's edge, knowing what to find before you see it. Your girlfriend is calmly braiding your long hair...she has five feet done already, and there are still loose tangles of light brown hair all over the floor.
"Morning babe," you say quietly. She does a small jump and snaps her head around. For a second she has the look of a kid caught in a naughty act, but it quickly turns into a pleased expression.
"Good morning," she chirps back.
"Whatcha doing?"
"I wanted to braid my hair," she says with a sigh, "but I'm no good at doing it to myself."
"So I'm your gunnea pig, huh?"
She shrugs, still holding the last braided segment of your hair. "What do you think?"
"I think I need a haircut." You stand up and pull a pair of boxers out of the dresser. Your braid and the rest of your hair strands drag behind you. It feels weird to have such a thing hanging from your head. It kind of bothers your neck a little.
Also, now that you're standing for the first time in hours, you have a sense of how tall you've grown. Everything in the room seems much lower now. "How tall would you say I am now?"
Your girlfriend is busying herself with untangling the lovely braid she'd probably taken over an hour to weave. "I don't know, exactly. I'd say you're six-foot-four."
You feel slightly dizzy as your body nudges upward a small but noticeable amount. "No, but I am now apparently. Doesn't this bother you?"
"Being able to change you like that?"
"No, having me be so tall compared to you."
"Says the guy who made me a midget."
"You're not a midget, you're four-eleven--" Your girlfriend suddenly shrinks by about an inch and a half, but you try not to let that distract you. "--and I didn't mean to have THIS much of a height advantage."
"Oh no?" she says. "I take back what I said before. You're not six-four, you're six-six."
"Gah!" you exclaim as you're pulled upward even further. "I don't want to be this tall!"
"Tough," is all she says, crossing her arms and walking to the bathroom.
Alone now, you walk over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror installed conspicuously in the room, probably for the very purpose you're about to use it for; checking out your current form. You've got an extremely slender build, with hints of muscle in all the key places and an aerodynamic profile. Your limbs, neck and face are quite thin, probably on account of the new height your girlfriend has picked for you. Your skin feels like it's just been freshly waxed. There isn't a hair on it aside from your head, and that hair is so long you can't even ballpark the figure.
You shake off the last remnants of the braid as your girlfriend returns, wielding a pair of scissors. Her own hair is now a tight crop, shorter than any of her hairstyles in the last two years. "We're going to need garbage bags for our shed locks," she says as she comes behind you and starts to snip your hair at the base of your neck.
Your hair is still long compared to how you've always worn it, but it's obviously more manageable.
"I kind of miss it," you say. "Not all of it, but you could have cut it a little lower."
"Don't worry, we told ourselves our hair would grow fast, remember?"
"How fast?"
She shrugs. "Your hair can grow...six inches an hour. You pick mine."
"Yours will grow an inch every five minutes," you say. "I miss its length."
"Okay, but you know longer hair is going to get in the way once we go put your new bod to good use."
You cock an eyebrow at her suggestion. "Put to good use?"
She wraps her arms around yours and leans in, looking up and up and up at you with sweet eyes. "You know, doing the kind of thing guys of your type love to do."
You're still confused.
"Swimming! We should go swimming!" she pushes herself away from you in frustration. "Geez, your brains must be dulling just like a stereotypical valley surfer!"
"Hey, I can't help it if you're being too vague," you say defensively. "Besides, swimming and surfing are two different things. Anybody can swim. Only the most radical dudes are able to surf."
She snickers. "Did you just say radical?"
"Maybe. So what?"
"Come on, Mr. Surfer Dude, let's get ourselves ready for pool time."