English: A photo of an American female’s underarm hair. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As I go through my morning de-fuzzing rituals, I start laughing to myself. I wonder what I would look like au naturel – I mean, how hairy am I? I’m not sure at what age I first fell out with body hair: 14? 15? I guess when I started experimenting with make-up I also became aware of hair, and more significantly, its new status of ‘not welcome here’. Underarm hair and leg hair were the first to go. But at that age I didn’t understand the implications of the act: I was trying to fit in and trying to grow up, and that was more than enough to be dealing with.
As I stepped into the world of boys and sex (no, I am not telling you what age I lost my virginity!) I became aware of the next unwelcome member of the hair possy – the bikini line. Continue reading →
When I was younger I was fiercely independent, both financially and in spirit; I was as career oriented and ambitious as many of my male peers, if not more so; I didn’t ever harbor childhood fantasies of skipping down the aisle in a big white dress; and the maternal gene clearly got lost on its way to me.
But when I met Mike, I developed this irrational desire to be married. I was 33, still had no maternal feelings, but wanted to create a special, permanent bond with this man. Not because I wanted to be looked after, or provided for (although that is exactly how it has worked Continue reading →