Days of Yore

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Let me embarrass myself completely and take you back about 60 years. Puberty  hit me like a shovel on the back of my head, growing 9 inches of height in a year with hair sprouting from everywhere when nothing had been there only months before … and “yes I was a girl.”

I suddenly had a growth of leg hair that I either had to claim I was Parisian French, braid or get rid of anyway I could. Fortunately I had (and thankfully still have) a sister five years older than myself – who handed me a razor (no safely razors at that time) and told me that I looked like Sasquatch and to go shave my legs. I didn’t know how to fire up the boiler for hot water so I climbed into a bathtub full cold water, did the deed and returned a short time later with blood dripping down my legs from the nicks.

The words of wisdom I received from my sister were “cold, huh!”

Fast forward to age 29 and a skiing accident that did some major damage to my right knee and even faster forward to 2014 when I did some damage to my left knee on a flight from Vancouver to Rome.  Fear of not being able to get up out of the tub and living alone means that I now take showers. Shaving my legs became a pain in the ass so I stopped about three months ago and went back to looking like Sasquatch – it didn’t take long.

In a few hours I’ll be heading to downtown Vancouver to spend a day and a half with my niece who would laugh me off the planet if she saw the amount of hair I could donate – to keep a bear warm during hibernation- growing on my legs. I did the right thing this morning – I shaved my legs.

Oh drats – will someone call the Roto Rooter Man.  I think I have clogged my drain.





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