There are two types of women in this world.
Those who can successfully shave their legs and master their bikini line, and those that can’t.
If you have ever read this page before, you already know which one I am.
Last week I strode into the gym, feeling all kinds of silky smooth. When one of the gorgeous young things I train with greeted me with a ‘hi’, and a pair of legs so polished you could have skied down them.
Not a stray hair anywhere.
I looked at my own pins, and found instead of the luscious legs I had left home with, my lower body resembled a deforestation project – 75% complete.
My forty one year old eye-sight plus my bathroom lighting that is missing a few bulbs; had let me down once more. Sitting on the comfort of my own toilet I had legs of Eva Longoria, in the boldness of a rare British Summer day, I was more Big Foot after a decent attempt at de-fuzzing with only a pair of nail scissors.
I spent the whole gym session trying to pull my shorts down over the 3/4 mark on leg where every woman of my generation stops shaving. Then realising to my horror, that my bikini line was starting to spread to where I have always ended my shaving.
Age is a mofo.
I consulted my oracle on the way home. My slightly older best friend.
“Knee blindness” she cackled.
“It comes to us all.”
Anyone reading this under forty – enjoy the feeling of soft skin on your knees whilst you can, once your life really begins (at 40) you can expect a permanent five o clock shadow on your leg hinges.
And the flight path.
Doesn’t matter how many times I check my legs, what type of shaving cream I use, somewhere, somehow, there will always be a strip, from ankle to mid shin, of hair. Like a rope ladder for ants. I’ve learnt to accept it. Give me a few years I may even dye it, make it a leg feature so to speak…… Am sure that will glam up my Tinder profile.
Then back to the bikini line…
As I age, basically shit stops working.
Joints become slower to respond, my hearing is definitely on the way out, eye sight – see above.
But hair growth?
That baby is just coming into its own.
It is like my bikini line is on steroids, and makes gains weekly.
Yesterday, armed with a straight from the packet razor, I went to war.
10 minutes in the shower, I squatted to below depth to get underneath, I raised my leg above my eye brows in a move any ballet dancer would be envious of. I achieved a one legged squat with my chest pressed up against the tiled wall.
For 10 minutes I was as supple as a baby giraffe.
I exited the shower, reached for a towel, and looked down to see a part finished patchwork quilt.
I grabbed my weapon once more, and went back into the shower to finish the battle.
I emerged, red faced, and out of breath five minutes later. Feeling victorious, only to look down and see my tormentors still clinging onto life, crop circles were everywhere.
I went back in, fresh weapon, straight out of the cellophane, fresh squeeze of shaving gel for ladies (because obviously we need our own.) Positive mind set in place, I would win this war.
Finally, exhausted, I staggered out of the shower, leaving a lawn of curly victims in my wake.
I dried,
I checked.
They were still bloody there.
I removed my contacts. Looked down, saw nothing.
A solution was found….
And should I visit the local pool and show off my loss at any time soon….
Well, the plus is, the hearing is going, so I won’t hear the kids cries of anguish anyway…
Perhaps some of the side effects of aging aren’t that bad after all!