…. so, after weeks of wearing shorts and skirts and wandering all over DisneyWorld happily leg-behaired, I finally shaved because I wanted to be able to wear skirts to work without making a Political Statement About Me And My Lifestyle to every knucklehead and jackass from the sales department.
It’s annoying that I care more about how I am perceived than My Principles, but you know, I’m human. Besides, 8 months is a pretty good stretch for someone who is used to a relatively high level of body loathing. I did forget about my legs for entire days while I was wandering through the Magic Kingdom, so that was pretty awesome.
Besides, the unexpected plus side to going au naturel for months at a time is that I’ve totally shattered any sensitivity to stubble – where earlier in my life, I used to feel like I needed to shave Every Time I wore something with a hem above my ankles or a cap sleeved top, now I just don’t care that much about the in-between stages.
I was watching the beginning half hour or so of “Miss Congeniality,” on TBS which is hardly my favorite Sandra Bullock movie, but the remote is out of batteries… it made me grateful for all the many make-over montage movies that are out there. They teach us that femininity and the performance of it are something that you put on in the morning along with your underwear and (one hopes) your deodorant. Or not. Or you leave it at home like an item of clothing you bought for a special occasion, or you bring a more casual version to work with you. This week I have been extremely happy in and undershirt and what I call the “magic Mets cargo shorts,” because I bought them at Citifield and they FIT, in a skirt and emergency-purchase-white-blouse ushering at 2nd Stage, in jeans and a graphic tee from the Gap, and in a super tacky house shift covered in garish pictures of fruit. I looked cute and I felt good and even if I DIDN’T look cute, nobody said anything and I STILL felt good.
And even better is what I learned while I was out and about, all transgressive and shiz. That I have awesome friends who Do Not Give A Crap. Maybe the next person I date will have an opinion, but nobody else in my life cared or noticed or commented At All. One of those humbling reminders that nobody cares as much about my appearance as I do, I suppose, but an equally powerful demonstration of the support that’s all around me when I need it, whether I ask for it or not.
So sorry, pervy googlers who keep finding their way here by searching for gross things like “teens with hairy legs pics” (EW and I’m 25 so I hope you’re MISERABLE), and sorry to my lady bic which probably thought it was going to get frequent mileage when I blew the dust off it last week.
An indifferent shaver