Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Smooth and silky...
It is amazing how fabulous it feels to have freshly shaven legs.
Shaving my legs is such a chore for me. My genetics are such that I was cursed with a certain hirsuteness. Which would be great if it were confined to the top of my head. I've often been complimented on my thick, dark head of hair by friends, family and hairdressers alike.
Unfortunately, in my case, a head of thick, luxurious hair also heralds thick coarse hair on my legs, my forearms and even traces on the backs of my knuckles and tops of some of my toes. I've also got the makings for a fine Frieda Kahlo mustache and witchy chin hairs, were I to just let it go. Thank heaven I've escaped the unibrow of my younger brother. On guys it's fine. For a pretty, feminine woman like myself? Not so much.
On top of this I have my mother's fair skin, against which the dark hair contrasts nicely. And my skin is obscenely sensitive. So well-meaning advice of, "Nair it, bleach it, shave it a few times a week" is met with, "Eats the skin, burns the skin, gives the skin lots and lots of little red bumps and rashes."
Attractive, I know.
Nor can I wax frequently, due to tightness of my purse and the stubbornness of my facial hair. My mustache and chin hair laugh at waxes of all kinds. We're not talking timid little chuckles in the corner. Oh no, my friends. My mustache and nascent beard guffaw heartily when they are approached by wax. They point and laugh and make the wax feel really, really bad about itself, until it realizes that my eyebrows, at least, will gladly welcome it.
So my facial hair is taken care of several times a week (skin is not quite so sensitive there), but my legs and forearms are shaved about once a week. I've been known to shave less than that when I'm very busy or when I just can't be bothered to get myself out of bed early enough in the morning to take care of business during my morning shower. Trust me, I pay the price for that laziness. In such instances I think a weed whacker would be more effective than a razor.
But.
When I finally take the time and trouble to perform that chore, when I overcome my innate slothfulness to slather on the foaming shave cream, dip my razor in the warm water and draw it across my pale skin, frequently rinsing it to ensure the closest shave possible, then to towel off the remaining foam, followed with a quick, stinging application of the septic stick when needed, and the soothing aloe vera gel and softening moisturizer?
Then, then I am rewarded. My legs and forearms and all previously undesirably hairy areas are smooth, silky, supple. I caress my skin, reveling in the velvety touch of it, the sheer sensual feel of it. I wear short skirts and heeled sandals to show off the curve of my newly shorn calves. Sometimes I, the queen of the long sleeved shirt, even I wear shirts with half- or three-quarters-length sleeves so that my forearms will feel the sun and the breeze waft across their tender, fair surfaces. And each time I wonder, why don't I do this more often?
Until the stubble makes its appearance the next day.
Shaving my legs is such a chore for me. My genetics are such that I was cursed with a certain hirsuteness. Which would be great if it were confined to the top of my head. I've often been complimented on my thick, dark head of hair by friends, family and hairdressers alike.
Unfortunately, in my case, a head of thick, luxurious hair also heralds thick coarse hair on my legs, my forearms and even traces on the backs of my knuckles and tops of some of my toes. I've also got the makings for a fine Frieda Kahlo mustache and witchy chin hairs, were I to just let it go. Thank heaven I've escaped the unibrow of my younger brother. On guys it's fine. For a pretty, feminine woman like myself? Not so much.
On top of this I have my mother's fair skin, against which the dark hair contrasts nicely. And my skin is obscenely sensitive. So well-meaning advice of, "Nair it, bleach it, shave it a few times a week" is met with, "Eats the skin, burns the skin, gives the skin lots and lots of little red bumps and rashes."
Attractive, I know.
Nor can I wax frequently, due to tightness of my purse and the stubbornness of my facial hair. My mustache and chin hair laugh at waxes of all kinds. We're not talking timid little chuckles in the corner. Oh no, my friends. My mustache and nascent beard guffaw heartily when they are approached by wax. They point and laugh and make the wax feel really, really bad about itself, until it realizes that my eyebrows, at least, will gladly welcome it.
So my facial hair is taken care of several times a week (skin is not quite so sensitive there), but my legs and forearms are shaved about once a week. I've been known to shave less than that when I'm very busy or when I just can't be bothered to get myself out of bed early enough in the morning to take care of business during my morning shower. Trust me, I pay the price for that laziness. In such instances I think a weed whacker would be more effective than a razor.
But.
When I finally take the time and trouble to perform that chore, when I overcome my innate slothfulness to slather on the foaming shave cream, dip my razor in the warm water and draw it across my pale skin, frequently rinsing it to ensure the closest shave possible, then to towel off the remaining foam, followed with a quick, stinging application of the septic stick when needed, and the soothing aloe vera gel and softening moisturizer?
Then, then I am rewarded. My legs and forearms and all previously undesirably hairy areas are smooth, silky, supple. I caress my skin, reveling in the velvety touch of it, the sheer sensual feel of it. I wear short skirts and heeled sandals to show off the curve of my newly shorn calves. Sometimes I, the queen of the long sleeved shirt, even I wear shirts with half- or three-quarters-length sleeves so that my forearms will feel the sun and the breeze waft across their tender, fair surfaces. And each time I wonder, why don't I do this more often?
Until the stubble makes its appearance the next day.
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
