The day had started okay. 4:15am alarm. Two and a half hour run that I really wasn't into at the beginning but got past and ended up enjoying. Coffee and toast with the crew. Some grocery shopping. A normal, run-of-the-mill, unspectacular kind of Saturday.
And then it happened. The horrific part. When we were driving back home.
I'd stiffened up after the two and a half hour run and all the sitting at breakfast and in the car and I just thought I'd do a little bit of stretching while Iven chauffeured me home. So I had a fighting chance of getting out of the car at the other end - let alone get up the stairs.
I lifted my left leg onto my right knee and something caught my eye. I think it was the angle of the light as the sun came through the windscreen. Because at home in the dingy light, I'd never seen what I saw. A very long - and by very long I'm talking about a good inch - hair on the back of my thigh.
I assumed it was one of the dogs and tried to brush it off. But it didn't budge. So I grabbed it and pulled. Ouch! Nope, definitely not one of the dog's.
And then I inspected a little further. It was not the only one!!! And I will never get a job as a contortionist because that closer inspection was really, really tricky.
I changed sides and sure enough this cosmetic disaster was not confined to just my left leg. Shock, horror, shame!
Iven assured me that he'd never seen any long black hairs on the back of my legs. But he thinks I don't have any wrinkles. Or flabby bits. That's the beauty of being married to someone who's a little older. Their eyesight fades just as time is wreaking havoc on your body.
I spent the rest of the trip home plucking out the offending hairs. And the damned things are just like spiders. If you don't get a good grip on them when you pull they just shrivel up into tight little Shirley Temple ringlets. Nowhere near as impressive as they were. Not that I'm wanting anyone to be impressed with the pelt on the back of my legs.
So I feel I must take this opportunity to apologise to anyone who may have caught sight of this offence against humanity. I've plucked out the worst of them now. And I'll try to keep on top of things. Every Saturday on the way home from getting the groceries when the light is at just the right angle. At least until it gets cooler and I can finally wear capris again.
My cousin warned me that after 40 you start to grow hair where no woman should!! I've been on the look out but haven't checked that back of my legs..........GAH!!!!!
ReplyDeleteSneaky little things. They grow where it's hard to see.
ReplyDeleteOh, dear, this makes me too scared to look!
ReplyDeleteDon't worry. If anyone notices you can always say 'What were you doing staring at the backs of my thighs?' I can think of only one situation where someone might have a legit reason to stare at the back of your legs. Chasing you down in a race. At which point they shouldn't have any breath left to be horrified.
ReplyDeleteI know exactly what you're talking about. It's happened to me as well. It's very hard to shave the back of your thighs and who remembers? They do curl up into little spirals when you hand pluck them. Beautiful description. They sting too because they seem to be connected to random nerves all over the body.
ReplyDeleteLOL It's one of the few things I like about Winter: not having to shave my legs every week :)
ReplyDeleteI'm so fat at the moment I can't even see the back of my legs. Or other (ahem) bits. Possibly for the best. Perhaps without glasses these misfortunes could be avoided?
ReplyDeleteI KNOW! I don't know where the hell these long black hairs on the back of my thighs came from because I am SURE they were not there before. OR WERE THEY? Was I wearing short skirts back in the day with long spidery black buggers hanging down OMGOMGOMG. It is terrifying to think about.
ReplyDeleteGenius move of Mother Nature making our eyesight fade as we start collecting these little reminders of time. Your posts make me laugh. :)
ReplyDeleteYou are a crack up. Doesn't everyone get hair on the back of their legs. Oh dear, I run away and hide in shame now.
ReplyDelete