I am the first to admit I don't shave as often as I "should". I enjoy the feel and look of my freshly shaved legs and pits as much as the next girl, but even as I revel in their silkiness, I know my laziness and apathy are only a step behind, and it'll be a week (at least) before I revel in their loveliness again. I mean, ugh, who has TIME? (And don't even TRY to tell me I'm The Only One who feels like this!)
Is it funny that I don't include scraping a razor blade over 25% of my body among my "can't skip" daily grooming habits? I mean, shaving isn't exactly a fun activity you look forward to, but neither is brushing your teeth, and I've never gone more than ten hours in my life without doing that.
I find it interesting that, historically, the concept of a woman shaving originated in Europe several hundred years ago. Yet today, if you go to a beach in California, you will see women whose bodies are (ahem) completely devoid of hair. Go to Europe? Well....you'll see both extremes.
I recall about a year ago, Husbandly One and I watched a Biography on Sophia Loren, and he admitted she was his boyhood crush. (He's older than me, get over it). I remember the documentary included a pin-up shot of Sophia, not the one above, but a flat out arm behind-her- head shot. At first I was struck by her loveliness. Then I saw the bloody NEST under her arm, and my first thought was, "Ewwwww!!" But then I realized that here was the Most Beautiful Woman In The World, showing off her pit hair for all to see, and she didn't CARE. Her beauty, sexuality, and general desirability weren't tied to her Bic razor.
Yeah... I am following in Sophia Loren's sexy example. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Many years ago, there was a time when I wouldn't leave the house unless my legs were totally smooth. After all, you never knew if a man would put his hand on your leg, right?? Well, let me telling you something from my lofty position as a woman five years into a relationship: A man puts his hand on my leg at least once every day of my life. And usually it's all stubbly, and he doesn't care. He'd rather have ME, all sandpapery, than anyone else who was glassy smooth.
That's not to say that he might not prefer if I were glassy smooth, I suppose.
I guess the point I was trying to make (but, having just re-read this post so far, I see I have not even hinted at) is that I am always fascinated by the expectations of beauty and perfection women put on themselves. You heard me, I said "women put on themselves". Husbandly One could give a crap about my shins. All HE cares about is that I come home to him every night, and that I look forward to coming home to him. Sure, he loves it when I look sexy, dressed to the nines, sleek eyeliner, red lipstick, glossy skin. But, in the overall scheme of life, does he CARE?
No, my friends, he does NOT. I have several hundred days of sweat pants and no makeup to back me up on this, believe me. He loves ME, not my kneecaps.
SO why do women continue to feel bad about themselves, over tiny issues like gray hair, crow's feet, moving in to a larger dress size, or stubbly legs? REAL MEN DON'T CARE. And the sooner we all realize that, the better off we will be.
Stepping off my soapbox now. Gotta go shave, after all.