Now you need to understand about me that, come winter, I admittedly get
But the time has come to do a little spring cleaning around here. The weather has finally warmed up at least enough to have me hauling out last year's capri pants; I've even been wearing them around the house, though admittedly with a sense of discomfort knowing that my legs have been more than a little on the furry side. Geoff has been kind enough not to
...No more. Not after today. Not after the hair. Not after thinking that I could take a straightening iron to it to remove the gentle wave of it. Not after wondering about practicing my hair-braiding technique not on the Naomi mannequin, but on my own legs. Though I hate the job of shaving my legs, and though I cut myself every. single. time. despite the quality of brand that I use to do the task, and though I have strong Germanic roots which ought to leave me fully comfortable with the display of wooly legs, I simply cannot bear to have hair long enough to blow in the breeze continue to exist on my legs. While I am respectful of any of my dear readers who have chosen the alternate route, I simply and absolutely prefer the clean shaven look myself. My winter look can be no longer. Thus it was that my morning shower was extended by a couple of extra minutes (in itself a heady luxury, considering that my showers are usually a utilitarian 3.5 minutes long at most) and, ignoring Matthew's banging on the door when he thought that my allotted time was surely over, I took my time before emerging smooth and clean-shaven from that steamy heaven...though I see now that I missed clump on the back of my right calf.