Saturday, 20 November 2010

'Tis a season to be hairy

Hairy legs are a pain in the ass. I don’t mean a wisp of hair here and there; I mean a proper hairy affliction a Yeti would be proud of. What can you do? There’s creams, shavers, waxing and there’s laser hair removal at £450 a pop (and you need up to 10 pops, to make it work, ouch!). Or, the epilator method I subscribe to. Quite effective once you get over the initial shock of the needling pain that reverberates in the depths of your stomach.

The only thing is, in winter I get neglectful. There’s no incentive of skirts and bare legs, no incentive of the beach just round the corner. And no first date to worry about. Later on they don’t even notice.

So much later on Max doesn’t notice at all – I could grow tendrils of extraterrestrial proportions and he would remain blissfully unaware.

Still, I need to do something about my heavily coated pins, even though the likelihood of flashing my bare legs at somebody who'd care is presently zilch. But, first, I need to weigh up how much it’s bothering me against Max’s plea that I forget about it till spring. This way we will be able to turn the heating off.