I finally mustered up the courage to sugar my legs again. Just in case you had forgotten, last time I only got one strip of leg done before I realized my sugar concoction wasn't the right consistency. That was over three weeks ago. For three weeks I have had one smooth stripe in my left leg among all of my fleeciness. It took my social nonconformancey (I think that is a new word) to a new level.
But today I tried it again. Boiled it longer this time. It looked promising. And after my shower I sat down on the bathroom floor with my bowl of sugaring, a towel and cornstarch(so my skin would be appropriately dry and sticky things would want to adhere to it).
I grabbed a glob and proceeded to spread it on my skin. After making sure I pulled my skin taut I ripped away. It didn't hurt. I'm lying. But it didn't hurt bad enough to make me want to stop. So I found myself spreading goop with a vengeance. Ripping all over the place. Wincing. And then doing it again. The goop would only last a couple of strips before it got too goopy. I would then scrape it off onto a plate and grab some more. It was quite satisfactory to see my pile of hairy goop growing. All of that hair that was now not in my legs. :D
At one point I became consciously aware of this anger secretly slipping out. Even though it hurt, I didn't care. There were times when I almost attacked my legs with the stuff. Ripping with glee. Hating my hair. Hating all of the emotions of inadequacy, manliness(my leg hairs are longer than many a guy's), unfairness, not feeling beautiful, not feeling like someone would want to love a hairy beast. Ugh. Didn't I just spend a year and a half pointedly not shaving to make peace with my leg hair? Peace with myself? Damn.
I didn't finish my legs. Yes, I know, no one is surprised. I ran out of sugar. So my calves of 3/4ths the way done. I can feel all of my little pores tingling.
But today I tried it again. Boiled it longer this time. It looked promising. And after my shower I sat down on the bathroom floor with my bowl of sugaring, a towel and cornstarch(so my skin would be appropriately dry and sticky things would want to adhere to it).
I grabbed a glob and proceeded to spread it on my skin. After making sure I pulled my skin taut I ripped away. It didn't hurt. I'm lying. But it didn't hurt bad enough to make me want to stop. So I found myself spreading goop with a vengeance. Ripping all over the place. Wincing. And then doing it again. The goop would only last a couple of strips before it got too goopy. I would then scrape it off onto a plate and grab some more. It was quite satisfactory to see my pile of hairy goop growing. All of that hair that was now not in my legs. :D
At one point I became consciously aware of this anger secretly slipping out. Even though it hurt, I didn't care. There were times when I almost attacked my legs with the stuff. Ripping with glee. Hating my hair. Hating all of the emotions of inadequacy, manliness(my leg hairs are longer than many a guy's), unfairness, not feeling beautiful, not feeling like someone would want to love a hairy beast. Ugh. Didn't I just spend a year and a half pointedly not shaving to make peace with my leg hair? Peace with myself? Damn.
I didn't finish my legs. Yes, I know, no one is surprised. I ran out of sugar. So my calves of 3/4ths the way done. I can feel all of my little pores tingling.
5 comments:
the other day i said to michelle that your leg hair is your battle.
i love reading, you're so candid!
the battle of the leg hair on the bathroom floor...it's so poetic. viva la anger full moon!
lol poetic. Thanks Kar!
Careful- I think you just explained the mystery that is woman.
We don't want the secret out, do we?
mum's the word.
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