The Top 5 Reasons I Hate Shaving

Yep, this is my house.
Image found here.

I wouldn't trade being a woman for anything in the world, but I do have to admit that when it comes to certain things men just get off easy. They're not responsible for hauling around a bowling ball in their bellies for 9 months, they don't know what it's like to give birth, they don't have to endure the utter horror of sitting on a public toilet seat, when they decide they want to lose weight it just starts to melt away with a few workouts because they don't store fat like polar bears the way we do, and if you see a man in heels it's because he wants to be. We women endure some serious medieval style tortures in order to live up to societal expectations of who/how we should be.

In my personal opinion, shaving falls right into the medieval category.

1. Acquiring the proper tools is freaking expensive! I'm not entirely certain who decided that $15+ was a "fair" price to charge for a package of 3 tiny scraps of metal wrapped in plastic, but I'm certain that they're rolling in dough from the highway robbery prices they charge. Granted there is the less expensive option of purchasing disposable razors, but I only recommend that if you enjoy being covered in Phineas and Ferb bandaids. I do rock a mean Perry though!

2. The amount of time it takes to shave one's legs is also nothing short of torment. Due to the time factor alone, I tend to resemble Chewbacca more often than not. It's not because I'm unwilling to make the effort, but because I'm lucky enough to have enough hot water left after 3 kids and a significant other to wash my hair, let alone to tame the wild jungle hidden under my jeans. All showers that need to exceed the 10 minute allowed limit of hot water left for mom must be taken after 10pm (if I can stay awake that late that is).

3. There is a certain ability for contortionism required in order to shave your legs properly. I truly believe that no shower was ever made with this particular activity in mind. You're always battling to either a) not wash all the expensive shaving cream down the drain while sitting in the tub (not to mention trying not to drown yourself) or b) trying to accomplish a Barnum and Bailey's style balancing act while hopping on one leg as you attempt to glide a sharp object across your skin. I don't care if you're capable of folding yourself into a human pretzel, this is just not fun no matter what way you slice it.

4.  Men are not forced to live up to the same standards that we ladies are. I believe that if we're required to keep our legs and underarms smooth and even occasionally  tame the rain forest, that men should have to meet the same standards with their faces. James and I are constantly battling over him keeping his goatee nice and neat. Personally, I'd prefer he just shaved the whole darn thing, but I can live with a little well groomed facial hair. What I don't like is when he doesn't bother with it for days at a time and it becomes the equivalent of having to kiss an electric sander. Sometimes I use the tarantula legs as a bargaining chip. "I'll shave when you do..."

5. And the #1 thing I absolutely hate about having to shave my legs... Two days later my legs start itching like I've leisurely rolled around in poison ivy! When the hair starts sprouting back you might as well hand me over a hairbrush, because I'm fully prepared to take off an entire layer of skin to JUST. MAKE. IT. STOP!

What about you?

Hey Doc, Can I Borrow The DeLorean?

This morning, Lena and I tackled one of those huge womanly milestones together. If you recall my post last month, One Hairy Armpit?, I mentioned that we're getting ready to tread into the deep waters of puberty.

This morning, my little girl, caught me completely by surprise. I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when she approached me very matter-of-fact, pulled off her t-shirt, and jabbed a finger straight into her armpit. I can only imagine the total deer in the headlights look that must have been on my face. Evidently I was just supposed know what that meant. After spitting and wiping a glob of slobber filled toothpaste off my chin, I asked her what I was missing here.

"Mom, we need to fix this" still pointing into her armpit. And then it hit me, she wanted to shave! My sweet little 5 lb 2 oz baby, who just came home from the hospital a week ago (at least it feels that way) wanted to borrow my razor.

I'm not entirely sure when the other armpit decided to sprout hair, but it's sudden appearance accomplished two things. One: it caught me completely off guard. She had not shared that little tidbit with me and since the days of needing assistance to shower ended when she was 5, I simply don't see her underarms these days. And two: one hairy armpit was a proud sign of growing up, but two? Two? She would not tolerate that nuisance. The time had come to eliminate her new found mortal enemy. Body hair. (Just wait, it gets better!)

While I understand that nothing is really just mine, I was not willing to hand over my razor. Not because I was afraid of catching her new puberty cooties, but because I had terrible visions of her slicing open the soft pink folds of her underarms. I have 5 younger sisters and went through this with all of them, but I recall just handing them the razor and telling the to do it already. It's completely different when it's your daughter asking for the blades of womanhood.

My reluctance to do so was met with some heavy sighs and rolling eyes. I'm so unreasonable! However, I remembered that I still had a bottle of Nair stashed in the back of the bathroom cabinet that I pulled out in order to quickly find a compromise. I understood the want to get ride of the hair, I just didn't want to chance a trip to the ER to do it.

We smeared the soft pink lotion under her arms and I told her by the time she was done brushing her teeth we'd be able to just wipe the hair away. Not thinking of the reason I had stored it in the way-back of the cabinet, I went about my other business and left Lena to herself in the bathroom. A couple minutes later, she walks into the kitchen, arms raised high over her head... "Mom, this crap stings!!!" Oh shit... That's right. Sorry kid! We rushed back into the bathroom, gave her a good dry wipe, said bye bye to the hair, and then washed her skin down in cold water until it stopped feeling like someone had just yanked each hair out with a pair of tweezers.

I stood there for a moment and just held my baby, rocking her in my arms, telling her I can't believe how big she's gotten. She looks up at me sweetly and tells me "Mom... I think I'm also getting hair on my butt."

She sure knows how to kill a special moment, doesn't she? Now I've added another thing to my list for this weekend. "The Darkness" Halloween costume and a safety razor.