The first time I ever shaved my legs was in middle school. I remember going through my usual routine of getting ready for bed (which in those days was simply to bathe, wash my face brush my teeth and throw on my pj’s). However, while I was in the tub taking care of business as usual, I spotted my older sister’s razor. Not that I hadn’t ever seen it before, I always noticed it, but it just so happened that on this particular night, when I saw it sitting ever so majestically on the brim of the tub, it dawned on me that I was a girl with hairy legs and that this razor was the door to womanhood (which means having shaved legs right?). Right. So I seized the opportunity to pass from girl to woman and I picked up that razor and emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later missing hair, a few slices of skin and (so I thought) the little hairy girl that I left behind in the tell-tale remnants of my passage into womanhood…which was a ring around the tub I would be forced to clean later. I felt like pure woman, like Aretha Franklin must have felt in 1967 while recording “Natural Woman” type woman. I was so proud of myself I disregarded the slight sting of lotion on the parts of my leg I had nicked with the razor and I think I might have even worn my training bra to bed that night. It felt like a secret victory and I felt like quite the accomplished little diva.
Only later would I learn that shaving is best when accompanied with shaving cream or soap, razors don’t last forever and using your older sister’s razor… just isn’t that sanitary. But it was my first time and I was young, slightly naive and clearly “woman” had not been one of the words on my vocabulary list at school that week.
And now, here I am, typing my first blog with all the excitement of that little girl shaving her legs for the first time. Unaware of just how its done but rushing in with all the determination of a girl with a razor and no fear of being cut. Somewhere down the line, I am sure I will look back at this and confirm that history sometimes repeats itself. I will say I was young, slightly naive and clearly blogging was not taught in college that semester. As I welcome myself once again to embark on another journey my only hope is that every post after this one still lights up that little spark that sits somewhere above my sternum in the center of my soul…because quite frankly, after the first time, shaving has never been that fun. But then again, most things are never as fun (or as bad) as they were the first time around.