May 18, 2006

What I’m about to say is probably going to gross some of you out, and make a few of you female readers hate my guts, but I’ll just say it: I really don’t need to shave my legs as often as most women do. Ask my sisters. They hate my guts.

I’m one of those lucky gals with almost colorless, fine, slow-growing leg hair. Between that and the fact that I haven’t been wearing skirts very often, I’ve gotten insanely lazy about the leg-shaving. I’m not a hippie chick, and I’m not dirty – I like having smooth legs, and I promise I shower regularly, and for the record I shave under my arms every day, but I just kind of don’t give a crap about my legs most days. I’ll do it every couple of weeks if I’m lucky. If I happen to wear a skirt or something in the meantime, 9 times out of 10 there won’t be enough overgrowth for anyone but me to notice, unless someone got right down on the floor and felt my legs. Which generally doesn’t happen in my office environment.

That said, I’ve known since Monday that I would need to wear a skirt today, and I kept meaning to shave my legs, but inevitably I’d get in the shower in a rush and wouldn’t have the extra time, or I’d just forget.

And then this morning I sat down at my desk and crossed my legs and clearly saw a good quarter-inch of leg hair. And I was HORRIFIED.

I thought about going home at lunch to do a quick shave but my schedule did not permit it today. So instead I just sat around freaking out about it. What if a VIP caught sight of my ghastly leg hair in meetings today? What if someone accidentally touched my leg for some reason?

I sat in meetings and was very careful not to cross my legs or to sit at angles where the light would bounce off the hair, but the whole time I was completely and totally paranoid that everyone around me was as obsessed with my leg hair as I was at that moment. Now I’m back at my desk and I just can’t stop looking at the pale blonde forest. It’s out of control.

I have a dinner event tonight and I think when I go home to feed the cats before going back to work, I’ll do the leg-on-the-sink quick shave.

Filed under: everyday stories


  • 1. mike  |  May 18, 2006 at 2:52 pm

    Every time I see a girl’s leg hair, I think of okra.

  • 2. jen  |  May 18, 2006 at 3:30 pm

    Don’t any men around there have electric razors in their cars? Of course, I suppose it would be equally as embarrassing to have to ask that.

  • 3. Heather B.  |  May 18, 2006 at 3:38 pm

    I have pretty visible leg hair, but just too lazy to actually shave. Ugh. The other day I had to wear a skirt as there was absolutely nothing else to wear and I only shaved up to my knees. I’m a classy lady.

  • 4. jessie  |  May 18, 2006 at 3:54 pm

    I’d say you’re better off than the girl that rang me up when I was buying a shirt the other day – poor thing had a goatee.

  • 5. Sandy  |  May 18, 2006 at 11:49 pm

    God, that one-leg-on-the-sink thing just ends up in me having a severe case of razor burn. My legs are delicate flowers and must be treated as such on the 3 times a year I deem them worthy of a shave.

  • 6. Amy Bo Bamy  |  May 19, 2006 at 9:01 am

    Oh man, I *hate* shaving my legs. Hate it hate it hate it hate it! Fortunately for me (too) my leg hairs don’t grow fast or thick — I probably shave my legs like once every 2 months or so. Yaay, thanks Chinese/Filipino blood!

  • 7. cK  |  May 19, 2006 at 12:07 pm

    Gross? Not a bit. Hate inspiring? I sure one is not wasting her hate on something so trivial as slow-growing leg hair. Truly, no disclaimers needed, Lorie.

    What shall be said? I adore this blog. I do.

  • 8. jim  |  May 20, 2006 at 4:52 am

    dude, most of the people i know are more offended if you DO shave your legs.

    i sho do love me the punk rock feminist kids. :-)

  • 9. Lollie  |  May 21, 2006 at 2:38 pm

    I too am a habitual lazy-only-up-to-the-knee-shaver. When you are blonde and slow (and I don’t mean like Chrissy from Three’s Company) it’s the only way to go. My husband let’s me know when the time is ripe by affectionately touching me on the leg, once on the upswing, the rest on the down. “Kinda like sharkskin,” he says.

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