You’ve heard of “No Shave November,” right?
This activity originated in Australia in 2003, where 30 men grew moustaches for 30 days to raise awareness of prostate cancer and depression in men. They called it Movember.
It’s been Americanized now into No Shave November and Urban Dictionary defines the phenomenon as a way for men to stop shaving and grow more bestial, brutish, and manly.
This is not a post about No Shave November.
But the philosophy behind it is relevant to the events of the evening, so the back story seemed important.
I am of the opinion that if I’m not going to be showing my legs off, it’s not necessary to shave them. Thus, when the weather turns chilly and the shorts go by the wayside my dedication to shaving my legs turns south.
There are a few caveats: the armpit hair must be shaven every single time I take a shower. Hairy pits make me feel bestial, brutish, and manly and those aren’t life ambitions for me. Leg hair can grow unchecked, but the pits… I’m completely opposed to freedom on that body part. Also, if at any point there’s a chance I’ll be wearing capri pants, shorts or a swimsuit, I shave.
As gross as this habit may be I have a three compelling reasons for propagating it:
1. Weather. It’s winter and I have no body fat on my legs (it’s all gravitated to my midsection to build the lard baby). I need the extra layer of warmth or I’ll be forced to break out the Cuddleduds as soon as the weather drops to 50 degrees.
2. Hairlessness. I come from a long line of hairless people. My father, manly beast that he is, has had a puny crop of hair his whole life. We tease him that he has barely enough hairs on his chest to field a soccer team. Genetically, I’m predisposed to manageable leg hair.
3. Thrift and Personal Safety. If you cut down on the number of times you’re shaving the largest part of your body your razor supply last much longer! Plus, there have been two times I’ve been knocked unconscious in my life. Once, as a youngster, I was butted in the head by a goat. The second time was when I lost my balance while shaving my legs in the residence hall. I hit the floor and came to with cold water on me and a concerned neighbor asking if I was ok. If I hadn’t been shaving my legs that head injury would never have happened! Leg shaving is a hazard.
The truth is, if my husband complained about my hairy legs at all I would mend my unruly ways. But he hasn’t ever said a word…
… Until tonight. Just this evening I had my legs propped on his lap and the pants fell back to expose my calf. First, he mocked me for the sparseness of my leg hair. Then, he examined the length of the hair and said:
“I could take care of this hair for you if I had a roll of duct tape… you could do it to me, too!”
Call me crazy, but mutual duct taping for hair removal doesn’t sound like a romantic way to spend the evening. It sounds awful. Painful. Possibly something to post on YouTube, but certainly NOT FUN.
There are awkward personal hygiene moments in marriage you don’t expect when you say, “I Do.” Things like watching your spouse clip their toenails… using the sink while your spouse is using the toilet… plucking your eyebrows in front of them… passing gas with abandon… taking care of acne… these are not areas that make anyone look attractive or fill the normal person with bodice-ripping passion.
But they are a natural part of life and I have learned to love the moments when I can be my complete, unglamorous, stinky and gross self and know I’m loved anyway.
Yet I never expected my husband to try to yank my leg hair out for fun. So, I think… tomorrow I may shave my legs.
Break out the Cuddleduds.
Do you practice lack of shaving seasons?