As I crossed the street to get to work this morning, a lovely young black woman walked past, crossing the street the other way. I was astonished by her outfit – a blue denim jacket over a pastel rainbow plaid dress that ended several inches above her knees – because it just didn’t seem appropriate for our coat-and-tie, blouse-and-slacks/frumpy-dress business district. Something else seemed unusual, too, and then I realized: her bare legs were completely hairy (from the knees down or so). I’m just not used to seeing that. It surprised me, but I don’t think any differently of her for it – she was still beautiful, hairy legs or no. Still, it was a bit of a shock.
I had trouble shaving my own legs last night because of the hives; the electric razor just drove me up the wall. Now I remember why I try not to shave often – but then this weekend we’ll have lots of people over, and I want to look nice. I also tried shaving under my arms with a regular razor, which is a daunting task because I get a massive headache if I cross my eyes for even a few seconds. I managed the left side okay, but as usual cut myself on the right and didn’t finish. I’ve never liked shaving, and I don’t think I will ever do it on a regular basis.