I don’t shave everyday. And those cold Chicago winters don’t help that fact. This winter has lasted so long that my flannel sheets are still on the bed.
So basically I’m not used to the constant razoring that is required for those summer nights. I’m not used to just scraping the razor around regularly in case I feel like wearing a skirt.
I wouldn’t say I’m superficial. More just that I’m Mediterranean, aka, a little on the hairy side. I envy with a passion those woman who have blond hair on their legs and can go a few extra days without thinking about their razor. But not me. While the hair on my head is brown, the prickle on my legs is black.
When I’m not living in dresses, as I tend to in the summer, it’s not that big of a deal. I think there’s something about surviving a Chicago winter that makes you want to keep all the skin protection that you can get. Either way, this is only a problem for me in the very short and sought after Chicago summer.
Today was warm. Really warm. So warm that as I write this at almost midnight it’s 80 degrees in my apartment. And because I work from home, I don’t always get out of the house and therefore don’t always check the weather. So when I realized that the tights I was wearing were causing the crook of my knees to sweat, I decided to let the hair fly free.
Later, at a Bachelorette viewing (1. Please don’t judge me. 2. Go Will! Your my #1 draft pick and momma needs a new pair of shoes.) I mentioned this risk to the girls I was with, which resulted in uproarious laughter. “Well if that’s a risk,” one of the commented, “then I’m fearless!”
While no one problem noticed but me, I was still a bit self-conscious all day. But it wasn’t so bad. Probably won’t do it again though, as skin protection in the winter = suffocating legs in the summer. But it was nice to let my inner feminist lean her head back and yell, “FREEDOM!!”.