belle de jour-10.1.2003

N is a bouncer at a gay club. I popped by to see how he was getting on with his cold, and hopefully to raise his stock a little. This ploy might work if we ever met in a place where straight people go.

vendredi 31 octobre
N is a bouncer at a gay club. I popped by to see how he was getting on with his cold, and hopefully to raise his stock a little. This ploy might work if we ever met in a place where straight people go.

HT Image

"Darling, is it wrong to be jealous of a drag queen?" I asked, as the very image of Doris Day slid past me in a white fur capelet.

"Who's the object of your envy this time?" he asked. I nodded toward the blonde goddess. "Oh, don't be," he said. "I hear she spends three hours every day just removing hair ."

Which brings me to hair removal, a subject dear to the breast of many girls and would-be girls. Gents, consider this a public service announcement.

There is no optimal method of depilation. Razors leave terrible stubble, worse when it's winter. I have clocked the time between smooth skin and goosepimpled hell at about three minutes. Cream removers smell terrible and never quite get all the hair anyway. Those vibrating-coil epilators should be marketed to masochists only (which, dears, I am not) and waxing is usually administered by a sixteen-stone Filipino woman named Rosie. Also, it leaves the most horrible rash for the first day.

This is not a complaint - it is a statement of fact on the condition of being female. Probably something to do with the Tree of Knowledge. In return for all this suffering, we do get a few benefits. Baby-soft nether regions. Easy cleanup. Increased sensitivity. I have to stay on top of it, being blessed with a follicular thickness that is the envy of most arctic animals. My mother by contrast used to joke that she shaved her legs once a year "whether they need it or not."

In case you were wondering, my own hair removal regime involves a combination of waxing and shaving, largely because of an aversion to having things ripped out of my armpit. Crotch, though, that's no problem. Go figure.

But gentlemen, the next time you dive into your beloved's freshly shorn mott, spare a thought for the effort that went into this element of feminine grooming. And thank her with every fibre of your being. Or your tongue.

// posted by belle @ 10:46 AM