I hate shaving my legs. I hate waxing them or any other form of leg hair removal.
My name is Heather and I have hairy legs.
And I don’t just mean a bit stubbly. I mean haven’t-removed-the-hair-on-them-for-over-3-months, get-mistaken-for-a-footballer, hairy.
It’s not that I hate smooth legs, I quite like them. It’s just the upkeep. The constant need to keep on top of it. It is, quite frankly, an utter ball ache and I can’t be arsed.
Which is fine when I’m just slobbing about at home. I don’t even mind when I go swimming at the local gym with the kids. It’s not like I’m looking to impress anyone or care about what conclusions people jump to when they see my hairy legs. Besides which, when you are with the kids you can sort of hide behind the excuse of being a busy mum without the time.
However, it does mean that today I am off to some fancy-pants floatation session at some fancy-pants spa with legs looking like this.
Bugger.
