A big fat bubblegum-on-your-suede-shoes curse to all of you who were bestowed with the mega-blessing of hairless skin, or even light body hair. A curse!
I was not fortunate enough to inherit this from my mum’s side of the family. Or from what I hear my dad’s either. I’ve accepted the freakishness that I am but not until just a few years ago.
In fourth grade gym class a girl called Ramona Borcean pointed out my hairy legs. For the first time I had noticed and ran home crying. My poor mother freaked out and immediately shoved me into the bathroom, razor in hand, to teach me how to shave my legs.
This was an epic moment that inevitably sent me into a downward spiral of a “hairy beast” self-image for the next decade plus. The second my first strand of hair sprouted under my arm – eliminated. The instant I noticed my nether regions casting a shadow – exterminated. Followed by arm shaving. Followed by
burning Nair-ing the face. Followed by shaving up to the chest, yes, that means stomach. Followed by stalking mom to buy wax to annihilate anything I couldn’t see for my first day as a summer camp counselor. You get the point.
Years of this insanity were sucking any of my will to live when it came to taking daily showers, which became hour-long excursions mostly leading to blood and cursing.
Finally, I literally woke up one day and said “fuck this”. I wanted to see just how furry I would get if I let myself go…aside from legs, pits and va-jay, obviously. Und I deed. And you know what? I didn’t implode! I accept the fact that I have a coat of peach fuzz and until I have a sack of gold I can throw at lasers – I will still be loved.
Last September, Josh, our friend Angela and I went down to a community in the upper Amazon jungle of Peru. Having been warned that hot, or even warm, water would be sparce – I took to waxing my armpits. HOLY BALLS do I love that I did.
Stay tuned for tomorrow’s broadcast on waxing…