razor burn is for girls

So, for who knows what reason, the most contentious discussion topic in my family lately is that of shaving; specifically, women's legs. Even more specifically: why women's legs.

There are those of us who think it's a ridiculous, unnatural, misogynistic social construct; there are those of us who are grossed out at the thought of leg stubble in any amount; and there's my youngest stepbrother, who asked me why girls just don't shave their arms, too. I was speechless at that one. Because we're not all little Michael Phelpses and don't grease our whole bodies in olive oil in an attempt to be the first human body to break the sound barrier? Because I don't want to spend more time in the shower than I do sleeping? Because you don't have any hair on your face yet, let alone your body, so you don't yet know what contortions you'll put your face through for the rest of your adult life, therefore I can't tell you to multiply that square acreage by 2,000 and you get my to-do list in the shower?

To be honest, there are bigger problems to me than the moral arguments to be had around shaving and not. And I'm sure there are valid points to be made. But those points are not the point of my story. The point of this whole thing is this: I have been using crappy $2 used rusty machetes to hack away my leg hair all spring/summer. And then yesterday, buried in the half-used shampoo bottles I couldn't bear to throw away and insanely opted to haul 1,500 miles across the continent, I found my GROWN-UP RAZOR. With extra replacement blades. And it was like rubbing buttered peach skins against my shins in comparison.

Give it a week. Maybe ten days. I'll be back to hating shaving like the rest of you, don't worry.