Jesus Shaves
December 10, 2018
My legs were too hairy to receive First Communion, so my grandmother, aunt, and mom conferred and decided Nair was the way to go. I was in second grade and was gifted my first pair of panty hose to wear with my new white communion dress, but my hairy legs showing through the L’eggs weren’t palatable. I didn’t realize Jesus was so anti-body hair, but who was I to argue with the man?
The Dutch seem similarly judgmental about these things. You can’t swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a laser/waxing/tanning salon. The Dutch believe that in addition to being hairless, you must also be tan. I’m failing at both. It’s strange how the Dutch live such a healthy lifestyle in so many ways but make weird choices about things like smoking and sun exposure. (I told James Wilson that I was going to buy him a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine for Christmas.)
Nevertheless, I did break down and buy a new razor. Back at home we’d joined the Shave of the Month Club, so we paid a flat fee and got a month’s supply of razors mailed to our house (that I promptly used in the first two weeks, leaving maybe one for James to use for the entire month). James Wilson used the last razor blade last night on his impressive mustache, (he can thank me for those genes) so I went to the Dutch equivalent of a CVS today and surveyed the shaving supply situation.
The razor blades were stored behind the counter — apparently they have the same problem we have back at home with folks shoplifting razor blades. I can’t remember if the CVS back home in Falls Church kept them under the plastic locked container, but the Target was far more trusting (those fools). At 17 euros for a pack of three blades, who can blame anyone for having light-fingered tendencies? The lady behind the counter wasn’t particularly in the mood to help me decide which razor to go with, so I chose the good old Venus. I actually prefer the Intuition, but it’s not as common here, and I don’t want to have to schlep all over Amsterdam in search of blades.
I toyed with the idea of just not shaving, (at least through winter) and I even got to the point where the hair on my legs grew out enough not to be lethal weapons, but yesterday at the Christmas market I was distracted by the sensation of my jeans rubbing and pulling the hairs and I didn’t care for it. Also, and I hate to admit this, but I can’t get behind the aesthetic. I am a huge fan of women with hairy armpits, but for some reason (Aunt Sue) I can’t embrace the hairy legs.
I’m sure you are all very glad to know all of this but if for some reason you find yourself worrying about my state of mind and think perhaps I’m having some sort of an existential crisis, never fear. I promised Holly I’d tell you all about the normal every day stuff, not just the instagram-worthy travel posts, so please do enjoy the minutia of my daily life. Next time I’ll regale you with the feminine-hygiene-product crimes that should land this country in The Hague.
All the very best,
Jennifer