Spring has arrived! The other day I decided it was time to don my new summer frock. I gleefully popped on the new frock and decked myself in my large brimmed hat and sat in the sunshine. After approximately a minute I realised there were two alien ‘things’ sticking out from the hem of my dress. Legs! Boy, oh boy, were they a sight to behold. I sat in my garden, feet up on a garden chair and I found myself looking around furtively, in case anyone else could see these unsightly objects. I was hit by a brainwave. I will epilate them!
It seemed a good idea at the time but there comes a point, about half way up the shin of your right leg, that you get that gut wrenching moment and realise there is NO turning back. It is at the same moment you also realise it was most likely a man who had invented the epilator, safe in the knowledge he would never rip the hairs from his leg at a rate of 600 revolutions a minute.
Small beads of perspiration had started to break out on my brow. My eyes were out on stalks as I offered the epilator to my leg. My leg developed a mind of its own and started to attempt a retreat out of the bedroom door. I twist my body into a strange, contorted shape (the like of which has never been attempted by any Olympic Gymnastic) as I try to sit on my own leg to prevent its exit from the room. By this time I am, quite frankly, sweating like a pig in a pork pie shop! My teeth are gritted so hard they are starting to appear out of the top of my head and I have ground all but the finest layer of enamel from them. My left hand is gripping my leg with a vice like grip. I try a different technique and run the blades of torture faster up and down my leg. This results in me chasing myself around the bedroom, hopping from one foot to another, as I begin to hyperventilate. I persevere with a steely determination so as not to end up with one leg smooth as a baby’s bottom and the other looking like it has been transplanted from a small baboon.
Several hours later, actually that is not true, it was an agonising eternity; my job is complete. Not a hair in sight and if there is one, it is clinging to the life raft of my leg by its own enamel free teeth. The upside is that I have lost two stone in weight in the form of gallons of perspiration! The downside is as a result of having hairs ripped out of them at an obscene rate of knots my legs have gone into melt down and come out in hives that closely resemble nettle rash. I text my friend making an excuse not to meet her that evening at the local pub and cancel all engagements for the next 24 hours. Oh well, I won’t have to do that again for six weeks so it has to be worth it. Doesn’t it?
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