Shedding That Winter Coat...On Your Legs

3 years ago

Ever notice that men have a celebratory winter month for officially growing beards, but there’s no similar start date for women? That’s because you don’t get to boss us around, partner. We take the entire winter season as our permission to quit shaving our legs, and we let it grow until it’s as glorious and thick as a mandolin player’s beard, or until it’s warm enough in the bathroom to be naked for more than 30 seconds and we look down to see our lower half resembling something out of the Country Bear Jamboree.

Some women wait even longer. I knew someone who was enjoying a warm, breezy day in April while wearing shorts. She admitted that she thought the mosquitoes were particularly bad that year as she kept slapping at the feeling of bloodsuckers landing on her skin when she realized that it was just the wind tickling her with her own leg hair.

In any case, spring is here and the winter coat must come off. There’s the time-honored tradition of shaving, but on occasion I’ve tried out other methods. Waxing is always trendy, but I had cats and therefore plenty of scratches on my legs, so the wax didn’t stick very well. When I yanked the wax strips off, they looked like sad caterpillars with male pattern baldness.

If there’s anything infomercials have taught me, it’s that any part of your body can be sanded or sprayed. I bought the pink-handled sandpaper kit and buffed an inch of hair and two inches of skin off my shins. The sandpaper actually made my legs smoother, but I had the overwhelming urge to apply a lacquer coat to preserve all that effort. Also, if I have to stroke something up and down for half an hour, I want more of a reward than simply having less hair, preferably involving jewelry.

For the next time, I tried hair removal cream. I slathered it on but daydreamed a bit too long about wearing short shorts and now I’m pretty sure I know what it feels like to drench your hooha in Sriracha. Fortunately, the screaming distracted me from the burning.

After careful review of my hair-raising experiences, I’m thinking just say no to the big Spring Shave, at least until all the snow disappears. When it finally warms up and I’m slapping at phantom mosquitoes, I’ll get an eight-pack of razors, a bottle of wine and a case of Band-Aids, the way Mother Nature intended. Who’s with me?

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