Shaved Legs

I shaved my legs this morning, just as I shaved them yesterday and the day before, as

Far back as fifth grade when an older boy looked at the soft brown hair highlighted against my pale

Skin and made a disparaging remark about my burgeoning femininity. His words inflicted

Shame on my body. Where before I’d felt they were a part of me, now my legs were alien

Enemies, beings that had sprouted unsightly fur seemingly overnight with no advance

Warning. As soon as school dismissed I hurried home and beseeched my mom for my own

Razor. Oh, you don’t want to start shaving, just yet, she said, Once started, you cannot stop.

Yet she gave in, instructing me in the depilatory arts. And damned if she wasn’t right.