I was sitting outside today, feeling the wind blow through my hair, when I realized it had been a really long time since I’d waxed or shaved my legs.

I began my rebellion of shaving my legs a few months ago when my skin, also began a rebellion of it’s own.  After spending a business trip in San Francisco trying to scratch the epidermis down to the bone with no relief I realized that shaving was possibly a thing of the past.

Not a big deal you say? To someone who’d been shaving their legs everyday since they were 12 it was. Well, actually that first time I shaved my legs, my arms, my stomach, my face and would’ve tried to shave the dog if I’d been able to get it to hold still long enough – shaving was a sort of magical power. That was, until my mother, in horror of viewing the ‘Cousin It’ that was left in the bathroom, pointed out that shaving any thing other than my legs would potentially result in  “prickly stubble”. She stabbed her point home (yes, puns are sometimes intended) by showing me her own prickly legs. I’d seen less sinister spines on the creatures in “Jurassic Park”, so, heeding her warning, I stuck to shaving only my legs (and occasionally strips of skin…. holyhell that hurts).

I, recently, managed to make it about 2 weeks without shaving my legs, screaming into pillows to avoid the maddening itch of it, and gingerly stepping into my running pants to avoid shredding them to pieces (I eventually avoided this by canceling all future workouts) until I decided waxing might be the answer.

I’d only seen one other person get their legs waxed and thought she was, quite possibly, being tortured to death. But, the great thing about watching a friend almost die from something is that we secretly feel we are tougher and could ‘almost die’ a bit less (certainly with less screaming). So, I perused the aisles at Target for their selection of leg waxing options. I settled on ‘Veet’ strips and headed home. No reason for everyone in a salon to hear me screaming.

Now for any of you that know me – you know I’m fascinated by anything that is somewhat gross. Waxing my legs was going to be right up my alley (and apparently my daughter’s). After applying first some baby powder, I warmed the strips (under the bum works better than rubbing them between your fingers – especially if your fingers are a step above icicles on any given day), and carefully applied them to my legs to avoid cutting myself. And pull. Oh for the love of jellybeans and buttered toast – ouch. But! the skin was smooth and the wax strip held an interesting type of science experiment of some indiscernible mammal. Perfect!

So after repeating that same procedure and getting (most) of the hair from the legs – who sees the backs of my legs anyway?? I am hooked. No more crazy itching from shaving and no more daily ritual of shaving, wasting water, time, and skin in a never-ending battle against Cactus Legs. Who cares if I’ve got wax strips stuck to every surface of my home 😉

My recommendation? Wax or embrace your inner Yeti.

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