Menfolk may need to avert their eyes...
Heed these words!!
In my state of crimson prison that is womanhood, I was beyond thrilled to lock the bathroom door and all of the crises that lay behind it;
"A shower! Yes! That is what will make me more relaxed and less likely to resemble the child-biting* ogre I've morphed into!"
The pounding water blocked out the cries of the starved and neglected offspring that beat upon the door. With my eyes closed, I could almost envision that I stood inside of a sparkling clean waterfall instead of a dingy beige tub that is badly in need of a scrubbing and new curtain. I began releasing the tension and anger that had built up. Ahhhh...
Moving into reality, I proceeded to do what is necessary in the shower, i.e. shampoo and shave.
Normally, these are my least favorite parts of showering (aside from the drying off and brushing of wet hair and, well, I really don't enjoy showers that much...). What with the rinsing and spitting of bubbles that evade my efforts and wind up in my mouth, and the bending and lathering and nicking of ankles... Nope. Don't like it. Not one bit.
You can imagine my surprised joy at finding myself enjoying the shaving of my legs. In fact, I LOVED it! It felt MARVELOUS!! As though someone were removing 10 layers of unwanted hair and dead skin. Like going to the spa only for FREE. This? Was TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!
Beware of things that are too good to be true.
After 5 minutes of shaving the same glorious spot on my leg, it gradually occurred to me that shaving doesn't usually feel good. Shaving is normally a bit like clipping your toenails; it's a neutral zone. Neither good nor bad (minus the bending and lathering bit). An alarm bell began to go off in my parched brain**, causing my hand to slowwwwly halt and question something so wonderful...
Know what's really great about August in Illinois? Besides the mind-numbing heat waves and humidity? It's the night life, baby! It brings us suburbanites out like moths to a porchlight; we cannot resist. We pour out into the darkness and build little bonfires and drink Long Island Iced Tea from a bottle and try to grasp every last drop of summer before it's gone.
Know what my family usually forgets to purchase in August?
Bottles of bug spray to replace that which has been depleted.
Know who the last person to get sprayed ALWAYS is, thereby resulting in an empty can fizzing out random spurts?
Me, of course. I mean, what kind of selfish mother would save her own skin before that of her precious children?
There is no scream like that of a menstruating woman who looks down at her extremely hairless leg to discover dozens of bleeding, oozing mosquito bites. Like I have any spare blood right now?!?This is not sufficient. The lighting is all wrong and I have dried off and I need more sympathy than this photo will induce...26 bites on my right ankle and foot ALONE. I stopped counting about mid-calf and didn't even bother to count my left leg....
You may commence with the tender and uplifting comments....
* I haven't actually bitten them. Yet.
**what with the hormone fluctuations and MENSTRUAL BLOOD LOSS.
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