What was the highlight of my weekend? Would you believe me if I told you it was waxing my legs? No? Well, you'd be right, it wasn't. However, I can't tell you what the highlight was as this is a family show so I'll tell you about waxing my legs instead.
I dream of having legs so smooth they positively shine; not quite like soldiers' boots, but definitely with an expensive sheen. And brown. Unfortunately, the reinforced concrete follicles of the hairs on my legs would defy the most sadistic waxer, and waxing becomes a fight to the death; my legs a bloody war zone.
So why go through all that I hear you cry. Well, I don't usually. I just cut the buggers down with a razor and be done with them. But you just don't get the same effect, and, being the ever-optimistic little soul that I am, sometimes I am filled with an all-encompassing desire to 'have another go'. I know, in my heart of hearts that it's a pointless undertaking. Professional beauticians have tried and failed to render my legs as smooth and hairless as a baby's botty and told me that either the hairs were too long or too short or that the moon was not in the ascendence or that pigs might fly.
BUT, I am not to be beaten. I don't like being thwarted, especially by a couple of two-bit hairy calves. Yesterday, thus, I took out my brandy-new box of Veet wax strips and got down to business. For the squeamish amongst you, I will not dwell on the excruciating pain of having one's hairs ripped out of one's legs leaving raw, red points of blood above my ankles. Examining the strips of wax, I saw with satisfaction a large number of little dark waifs, their follicles still attached after being forcibly removed from their anchorage.
Looking back down at my legs, however, I was aghast to see absolutely tons who had defied death and were, not so much clinging on for dear life, but battened down in one last great showdown! Waxing was useless. The hairs just slipped through laughing and jeering and I had to resort to heavy artillery. Tweezers. HA! You VILL surrender!!!
So, picture me sitting on my dining room chair, in the sun, plucking away at recalcitrant leg hairs when I could have been doing any number of interesting, educational, physical, relaxing activities. I did sort of win. The hairs could not resist the tweezers. It's strange though, as you remove one series of visible hairs, you see another layer of slightly blonder, finer ones. And when you attack those, you see another layer of still blonder, finer ones. Where will it end? I gave up on the finer, blonder ones. I was losing the will to live.
Was it worth it? Was my victory outright?
Er, no. Back to the drawing board.