Mattie’s favorite music is big, and loud, heavy metal. That is what he was playing in his iPod 24-7. We’re good friends, but that is something we’ve never seen eye to eye on. I like pop, Disco, and other music that you can actually dance to. I don’t outright hate metal, but the way Mattie keeps going on about his favorite bands bores the hell outta me. It’s like he wants to convert me to his religion, sometimes. To become another headbanger, like him. I often tease Mattie because of his hair. It’s long, blonde and thick. The sort of hair most girls would pay any price to get hold of. Obviously, to Mattie, it is part of the metalhead culture. He is noticeably bothered by my comments, but as long as he keeps pushing his favorite albums on me, I will keep teasing him. We have known each other since childhood, so we’ve long given up filtering ourselves when talking to each other. Together we came up with a deal.

It was Mattie’s idea, mostly. I would agree to attend a concert with him, and in return, I’d get to take him to one of my favorite clubs. A fine enough basis for a deal, I thought. It could be made sweeter, however, Mattie would get to lecture me all about the finer details of heavy metal, show me his vast knowledge of metal’s history, and I would not be permitted to complain or moan about it. But then, I would get to decide what he wears for when I get to take him dancing. Like other people of his persuasion, he has no sense of style. Old band t-shirts and worn jeans. I had some ideas for improvement. Though, highly hesitant, Mattie agreed. “You did not tell me that I was going to go out dressed as a chick,” Mattie moaned. “Shush it, “I told him. “You’re looking glamorous!” “I can’t believe you put makeup on me. Mattie continued. I can’t believe you made me watch a documentary series on headbanging, I said. “Now, don’t worry, you are looking positively adorable. No-one will suspect you’re a dude.” “I’m not sure if that’s consoling me,” Mattie whimpered.

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