Vindicated

"I knew it... I fucking knew it!"

The deep baritone of my voice echoed off the bathroom's walls.

"I always said he'd look so handsome with short hair, and everyone agreed with me, but no! He just would not get a haircut."

I gestured wildly, my large hands moving rapidly through the air. It was weird, seeing my gestures on my boyfriend's body. This was much more comfortable, however. The first few days after the switch I felt so wrong and uncomfortable in this body. My arms felt unwieldy, my legs felt like stilts, suddenly everything in the world was too small for hands! I felt like I was made of stone, hard, heavy, towering stone. 

But that feeling passed.

The more I moved, the more I walked in my boyfriend's place, the easier it became to move. Soon after all my mannerisms, all those little gestures and sounds that he hates his work-friends seeing, that he says are so embarrassing, they all came back. I mean, it's not like I could turn them, off even if I wanted to. They're just me, who I am; it's not my fault "who i am" is inside my boyfriend's head and in control of his body.

"... I don't know why he was so married to this wild-man look. Now the beard... I don't hate the beard."