Pass the razor, please

Not wanting my dentist distracted by rogue hairs, I am preparing for this morning's root canal procedure by plucking hairs from areas on my face in which they have no business sprouting.

Men get off too easy! Heavy brows? Not an issue. Five o'clock stubble? Sexy. Chest hair? Furry bikini line? Normal.

Adding insult to injury, shaving or plucking my unwelcomed fuzz only exacerbates its existence. How many women heeded mother's admonition, "don't shave above the knees!" Those of us who thought we knew better than mom now wonder who will mow the field when we are one day incapacitated in a nursing home. I can only hope that my senility dampens my awareness of the crop growing on my upper lip, my chin and my bikini line.

When I neared my 40th birthday, I was alarmed by dark hairs sprouting from beneath my chin. On a routine visit to my naturopath I pointed out my newest malady. She quickly responded with an uninterested flip of her wrist saying, "We American women are too uptight about body hair. The women in Europe do not shave and it is a non-issue."

As she continued her mini lecture on the subject of body hair, I remembered a little Sunday church meeting I attended in Scotland years ago. It was held in a very small home, so small in fact that I sat nearly knee-to knee facing a Scottish woman in her early 40's. We smiled tentatively at each other as we first sat down. And, as I modestly pulled my skirt over my knees I froze in horror. For this non-shaven, European woman had 1/2" long dark hairs plastered against her skin by the pressure of her panty hose. These hairs made her legs appear to be filled with hundreds of black spider veins. My eyes had a will of their own and would continually sneak quick peeks at the unpleasant sight. I was 20 years old at the time and vowed that I would remain ever vigilant in the shaving department.

Nearly 30 years have passed since that Sunday morning in Scotland and I remain vigilant.

Pass the razor, please.