There is absolutely no way that I am the only girl that has done this….
There have been plenty of dates where I have chosen pants over a dress either due to laziness or disinterest. Why would I take the time to shave my legs when I know that the guy at the other end of the table doesn’t have a shot in hell of actually touching them? Granted that brings up a completely different can of worms as to why I’m on the date in the first place, but we’ll ignore that facet for now. There are some benefits to not “landscaping” prior to a date – you’re less likely to hook up with the guy on the first date out of sheer fear that they might chafe their palm on your thigh and then never call you again. It keeps you looking a little more chaste, even if you were down for a bit of a romp.
On the other hand there are certain situations where I will urgently buy a razor, race to the nearest sink and contort my body in strange positions to make sure that I am freshly smooth. This is usually prompted by an unforeseen visit to lady-doctors, pedicurists, and massage therapists. We’ll start with the massage therapist example. There is nothing less relaxing than having someone rub stubble against the grain, let alone thinking about how it must feel for them. I’ve had massage therapists spend the better part of a session just on my legs and when you’re trying to achieve nirvana, it’s a bit awkward to hear a large sigh followed by the application of more oil – not that it would ever happen to me; my neuroses prevents this.
Next example: the pedicurist. You’d think someone that was painting your toe nails wouldn’t need access to freshly shaved calves. But a little known secret is that there’s calf massage when you get a pedicure – that’s pretty much what makes the $30+ worth every single penny. It’s bad enough that the pedicurist had to scrub the calluses off my feet, then trim and file my toe nails, but I’ll be damned if they have to experience another display of poor maintenance and planning. I feel bad – my scruffy calves are not a true reflection of my inner, or outer, self.
Lady-doctors? Do I even need to go down this road? I’m more likely to show up to the beach in a bikini the day before a wax. If you don’t know what I am talking about, ask somebody.
This whole confession started when I realized I’d spent more time getting ready for my doctor’s appointment than I have for a great number of dates or even a day at the beach. My doctor is a woman. It’s not like I am trying to score a date with her, but I am also not trying to get on her mental list of, well, whatever list I have imagined she has created in her brain for these sort of situations. There’s water-cooler talk at the doctor’s office, I know there is.
I’m not insane, merely considerate to service professionals. Sorry guys, I know this was a little more Cosmo magazine talk than you’d have liked, but your girlfriends are of the exact same mindset. Ask them.