A few weeks back, my Russian had a long chest hair. I think it might have been one of his first ones. His best friend saw it, because I asked him to look at it. I was excited by the one hair because it makes me think about potential. My Russian seemed uncomfortable with the hair, and so I plucked it with my finger tips. Then he exclaimed that maybe it would be the only chest hair that he’d ever have. I shook my head at him and kissed him, a sign not to worry so much about it; that I didn’t care about the hair or no hair on his body.
In my dream, he had a full chest of hair. Long, dark curls covered him. I was grossed out and asked him to get rid of it. He wouldn’t. Instead, he showed everyone his hair and was holding a grudge with me for pulling that one hair. He beamed at what he looked like now.