Because that’s the issue here. Hair. That stuff you’d think evolution would have sorted by now. But no, we’re still here, shooting out little spurts of the stuff every damn day…
If I had to pin up any part of my body, I’d probably plump for my legs. Admittedly, it would be a tough call. Especially at this time of year when their appearance is less than ideal – let’s be honest, winter weather isn’t renowned for its encouragement of sleek surfaces. If there was the vaguest opportunity to make a run for it I’d be out of there in a blinker, tanking it towards the drink station, or, alternatively, pulling on a camouflage sack. (Oy! You there! Anyone seen that pair of pegs…?)
Inappropriate pin-ups aside, I do quite like my legs. An uncoordinated saving grace, they’ve rescued me from all manner of sporting activities, particularly those involving teams and complicated things like racquets, bats and athletic apparatus. (Not surprisingly, my affection doesn’t extend to my feet, which have, on too many occasions, succeeded in transforming the leggy mass into a messy flash of flying limbs, cries, and visible underpants.)
You see, the thing about legs is that they have an extraordinary ability to hibernate during the darker seasons of the year, lost to the world in a maze of woolen tights and snug jeans. Try doing this in summer and you’ll get some weird looks. Or understanding ones, where you’re heavily clad striders don’t sweat, but burn, a naked-in-public dream gone just a little hairy.
Because that’s the issue here. Hair. That stuff you’d think evolution would have sorted by now. But no, we’re still here, shooting out little spurts of the stuff every damn day, fighting off a bodily barricade of fur that persists in the most peculiar of places. Unfortunate, really; difficult to see just where the bright side lies in this post-winter rainforest; frustrating to have missed, yet again, that whole resolution to WAX ALL YEAR.
But wait. The hairy mess might be appalling, but its horror is only momentary. Yes, you read that right: unlike in previous lives where you wrangled with hot irons, sharp knives, cauldrons of goose fat and personal slaves to find the smooth way ahead, things have changed. Oh baby, how they have changed. Personally I’ve always succumbed to those cheap and nasty razors which wouldn’t recognize cheerful if it bit them in the face (and chewed your ankles, too, while they were at it). Well, in the name of evolution, I’m jumping on a more sophisticated wagon. It’s called Schick, and it’s every bit as smooth as you’d like it.
Okay, so now I sound like I’m doing an advertising thing. But I’m not. It’s actually genuine, this amazement. It is two legs which haven’t looked as sharp as they do right now for, let’s see, probably a decade. It is two legs which have lost the undesirable plantation and have replaced the plaits with glistening curves. It is authentic, new-found, long-lasting love. I’m completely sold.
So while there is all the technical stuff (like ten flexing blades that ooze serum and pursue contours with a sleek, tight touch), the real issue is at hand. It is legs. Glorious legs. Legs that you’d like to pin up, sans tights, jeans, or any covering in general. Legs that would literally leap out of the camouflage bag and gate crash your party. Legs – and here, ladies (and possibly gentlemen), I take my hat off – that would shake a fist at evolution, because hey, who’s afraid of the big scary hair when there’s a Schick Hydro Silk to the rescue?
Words and original artwork by Willow Sharp
2 October 2012
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