If you’ve never developed a dysfunctional and cursing relationship with the lowest disc in your back, consider yourself lucky. That particular disc is a bastard and it will make you miserable for the rest of your life. Drugs and pain become part of your daily life. I’ll just leave it at that because further explanation is lengthy and boring.
The reason I even bother mentioning it is because I have difficulty doing certain things – like any activity that requires my torso to have anywhere from a slight forward angle to full 90° angle – like vacuuming, washing dishes, cleaning toilets………and shaving my legs.
And the only reason I even bother mentioning that is because my legs need shaving. Of course, I procrastinate. 2 weeks ago, The Viking and I were sitting outside enjoying the sun.
Me: Geez! Someone needs to shave my legs.
The Viking: Why? Who gives a fuck if your legs are hairy?
Me (loving him intensely): Well, it’s considered a social obligation in Canada/Alberta/Calgary. Women just don’t go around with hairy legs! Or pits, for that matter.
The Viking: Canadians are stupid. It’s just hair!
He’s right, of course, and I might be rebel enough to break the hairless opinion chain except for one tiny little thing – my legs won’t tan if there is even the slightest hint of hair stubble. I blame genetics. Also, The Viking made a comment early this summer:
Hey, Babe! You have Bedroom Legs!
That the fuck is that supposed to mean? Apparently, in Denmark, if you have fish-belly-white legs it means you are spending far too much time in the bedroom doing……..well…..you know. Before you go “that’s sexist”, it also applies to men.
Last week, The Viking and I were sitting outside having a beer after work and I noticed that my legs still weren’t shaved.
Me: Geezus! Someone really needs to get these legs shaved. Look at this! I can actually pull this hair!
The Viking: Whatever. No one cares.
We had some lousy weather for a few days, so I put leg shaving out of mind. And then Friday was a beautiful day so I plopped myself down in a deck chair in the sun and closed my eyes to just enjoy it for a few minutes. It was warm and there was a lovely soft breeze. Then my legs started to feel weird. It took me a moment to realize that……
……..the breeze was ruffling the hair on my legs!
Someone has seriously dropped the ball here. I need to go to the store! It’s one thing to leave a few pesky chin hairs because they can hide behind the face mask*, it’s another thing entirely to go to the store with the wind whipping my leg hair around. Whatever happened to slower leg hair growth when you hit menopause so you can spend more time plucking facial hair? I was looking forward to the day I could quit leg shaving because I can pluck my face without bending over. I feel kind of betrayed! Not only am I plucking my face more, but my leg hair hasn’t slowed down at all. Heavy sigh.
So, I pulled a kitchen chair into the bathroom, along with a margarine container of water to swish the razor. Thankfully, the shower head is detachable, and I can wet my legs. And now that I’m bent 110° over my legs, I realize that I’ve forgotten my reading glasses and can’t see if I’m missing hair. I remedy that problem and now I can see, very clearly, the varicose veins in brilliant contrast to my slightly tanned skin. Heavier sigh.
In the end, I got my legs shaved and I spent some time hanging them out in the sun. I complained about the varicose veins though.
The Viking: Just tan your legs more and no one will notice the veins.
Me: I’m not sure I can tan them out of existence.
The Viking: Then stop worrying about it. Now, let’s have beer!
Happily, after a few beer, I didn’t care about my leg hair and varicose veins. Perhaps I need to develop and implement a strategic drinking program – it’s cheaper than therapy, after all.
*Thank you silver lining of COVID-19.