A Harried Mom

Body hair on a women does not bother me, especially if it’s my own body. Growing up I wasn’t allowed to shave until I turned fourteen, but here and there if my mom left out her razor I’d experiment, resulting in some scars on my shins. When I could finally shave I had the goal of removing every hair from my body in the hope they would never return, but they did, just darker and coarser and a new daily chore was born-- made harder by my Baltic ancestry. Then one night in an Italian discotheque that all changed. There was beautiful female bartender (I of course was not drinking) and when she lifted her arm in some Tom Cruise “Cocktail” move a spotlight hit her armpit- illuminating in all its glory, a patch of wiry hair. I was repulsed and mesmerized at the same time, but then it hit me- body hair has nothing to do with cleanliness, instead it’s strictly about culture. A perfect example of how culture dictates beauty, hygiene, and attraction. When I returned home I tried an experiment over the winter and let me hair grow out, my boyfriend (now husband) was not amused, but thus began a cycle. Ever winter I go a little au-natural and come spring, like the lambs grazing in green pastures- the razors, wax strips, tweezers, and depilatory creams come out and I get fully sheared. I think it’s funny that some women try so hard to go against the social grain by getting tattoos, piercings, or Mohawks when all you have to do is grow a little body hair and Americans- male and female alike, are suddenly up in arms. My friends, female body hair is the last great taboo in American culture and I’m living on the edge.

A New Species Found In Utah- The Bald Beaver

For my birthday, I requested an intimate gift- laser hair removal on my bikini line. Lately it seems the advertising for it is everywhere and I’ve sat on the sidelines waiting for the prices to fall, but no more! To look at me, you’d think I was “normal” when it comes to the quantity of hair “down there,” but no it’s not. I found this out the last time I got waxed. I’d also had a manicure, which they cruelly did first, so I wasn’t able to take off my own shorts. When the Vietnamese woman doing the waxing took them off (which felt odd in itself), I heard her gasp, then for the next fifteen minutes I had to endure a lecture in broken English about how I needed to get rid of all the hair so, “husband come home from work.” Then she gave me a wink as she mercilessly ripped it all out while I lay helpless, holding my wet nails up to dry.

It seems some latent gene from my Baltic ancestry decided I would have the curse of the werewolf crotch. I told my husband some guys like a full beaver pelt, and his teasing reply was, “Yeah, and they lived in Communist Russia.” Clearly, something needs to be done. When I asked my friends for referrals, I found out all kinds of things about their body hair that I never would’ve guessed… The most shocking of all was that the most conservative woman of the bunch is now as bald as the day she was born. I’m debating about how ready I am for that, plus anything involving stirrups and a real laser is more than I bargained for outside of the bedroom. On the other hand, it would be nice to never have to think about it again. What do you think- should I join the new species of bald beavers or keep a lady-like landing strip that will need regular lawn maintenance?