I Just Spent The Last Half Hour Shaving My Legs.

Yes. You read that right. I did in fact spend the last last half an hour shaving my legs. Do I live in the Stone Age? No. How ’bout a rock? Surprisingly that’s a no too. Then why did you just spend the last half hour shaving your legs then Lana? Enlighten us! Well, my shaver broke. Well, somewhat. 

So, a couple of weeks ago I was shaving my legs, with an electric shaver, in the shower. Yes, I know, I’m an idiot. That was a recipe for disaster. I’m very well aware of that. But that’s besides the point. Now, I am of course blessed with the grace and the coordination of a Greek god. So much so infact that a tennis ball could be whirling at my face, hit it and fall to the ground, then a couple of seconds later I’ll react with a confused “what?!” Proceed to walk away, but find myself tripping over that yellow, fluffy, fluro ball of death instead.

Now I, and my grace, accidentally dropped the buzzing electric shaver onto the pool of a shower floor. It then fell open and the batteries flew out. Like two very angsty teenage birds flying away from the nest. I then freaked out, put it back together and forgot about it. 

[Flash forward to about a week later]

“Why must my legs have hair?” Reluctantly, I go to shave my legs. Same old, same old. While doing so I notice a strange brown-orange-yellow coloured fluid pouring out of the shaver and on to my legs. Battery acid. Hooray. 

[Now flash forward to the next week]

“Screw this! I have to do it! My calves are starting to look like the Amazon!” I must shave my legs. But how? I have an idea. The electric shaver contains all I need to shave my legs, sans a battery. The battery and the motor just make my job easier. I can manipulate the actual razor bit in order to shave my legs. It works. Not very well. Or fast. But it works nonetheless. So I park my butt on the floor and get to work and slowly slowly trim down the Amazon to a local forest. That’s good enough for me at this point in time. 

I was reflecting later on why on earth I felt such a need to trim my legs and remove the hair. It’s just hair. It’s meant to be there. Right? Ha! Oh innocent little female you! No, it’s not. You must have legs that are as smooth as silk. No hair must be seen. Because, well you see, we don’t really have a good reason besides it looks better? Can you settle for that?

No, unhealthy modern beauty standards. I cannot settle for that. I’m not going to go on a feminist rampage and refuse to shave my legs and armpits and braid my pubic hair. I prefer to have shaven legs. Though, why would it matter whether I did or I didn’t anyway? Why must I? Tell me. I’d really like to know. 



  1. Caitlyn · August 13, 2015

    So this is how your brain works


  2. scottishmomus · August 23, 2015

    Now if you were a guy you could happily have hairy legs, armpit forestation, grey hair and a pot belly and go on with your day like the sun and moon rose for your benefit! Or so it often seems. :/ I don’t know why. I do know I shave the bits that offend my own eyes (why? no idea, bought into the package?), I colour my hair and I feel better when reasonably trim. I’m vain enough (still, at 54) to want to look the best in my own eyes but guess I’d be good with none of it if I lived in a different culture where opposites were true.
    Ouch on the battery acid and near electrocution. That’s taking measures too far. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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