Hair today gone tomorrow

i shaved today.

Finally. It's probably been 2 months since i last shaved.To be exact, the last time i remember shaving was the eve of zoukout; 07 Dec 2007. Making it 11 weeks to date.I have to be honest, it does feel kinda liberating to revert back to 'ooga ooga' primitive cavewoman-esque behaviour. I mean the hair on one's body is there for a reason -to keep us warm. But why bother with keratin when there are likes of cotton(otherwise known as baumwolle) and acrylic, thrown together in flattering forms to wrap one's body in? Then there's the old fashion bodily warmth..but i'm not going there. Not today anyway.
Hold on a minute, just so we're clear the bodily hair i've been refering to is none other than leg hair. Yes, you heard me. Not my eyebrows(the Frida Kahlo look is so last century), not the fluff down there(gawd forbid i do a 'Germaine', i'll have you people talking about me years later over supper at macs!), and definitely not the underarms. I'm a feminist at heart but hygiene trumps bra-burning anyday.
I've just been really lazy of late and my fine, sparse leg hair grows at a relatively slow rate, in any case it came to a point where i felt a tinge of embarrassment if my pseudo date were to notice the spider leg-like growth, reducing me to 2 choices; either
1)a pair of skinny black pants paired with a flattering babydoll
or
2)to throw in some tights under my 'granny's day out' dress.

I chose the latter.Plus i was pressed for time. The dewd gave me an hour, and stressed that i shouldn't keep him waiting. How the hell do you do that?! Anyhow i was late. 20 mins. Better late than never.
Back to the topic at hand. Grooming, personal hygiene, basically the motion we are all expected to go through on a daily basis. Maybe with the exception of hangover sunday, where majority of us wake up way past lunch hour maybe even dinner, and sit around in our pjs and munch on mommy's cooking while vegging in front of the telly. But then there are the handful of us who don't indulge in such sloth-like activities, instead we go through the motions begrudgingly like any other day and trudge down to church with grandma and aunt suzie for sunday morning service, or meet with the girlies for 'sunday picnic in the park'. And then there are the unfortunate few who actually have to work on sundays. You have my sympathies.
Grooming, it's the reason why i set my alarm an hour and a half before the cab pulls up in my driveway to take me to work in the morning. It's why i leave my conditioner in for that 2 extra mins while i brush my teeth. Why i spend a good 20 mins teasing and blow-drying my hair so that it resembles something other than an afro.
Grooming, it's also where a bulk of my allowance goes to each month. Mani + pedis, cut + highlights + treatments, Clinique's 3-step program, exfoliating moisturiser for the body. The endless list.
Why do we put ourselves through such a stretch? Do these efforts pay off?

Contrary to popular beliefs, it is not for the appreciative glances of the opposite sex. Neither is it to draw attention to oneself. It is for self satisfaction.
Like when you spritz on a new scent, no one really notices it's incanto by ferragamo instead of clinique's happy, but you know it and because of the fact that you're aware of it, there's an extra spring in your step, the slight boost in your confidence. It's really all about you.
Like how girls are always going on about how fat they are, regardless of their size. I know i'm guilty of it myself and i'm a size 6. Topshop 6. H&M 34. Supre XS. It's self improvement that we're working towards. My 12yr old sister worries that she's fat, which is insane! A few pounds lighter and she'll look right at home in a third world country.
It probably boils down to society and the need to conform. come on, we can't all look like victoria beckham, she'll come to a point where her twiggy legs won't be able to support that big fake chest of hers any longer.
At this point i'd like to state a disclaimer.
Kim's gonna be so mad that i just dissed her beloved victoria beckham. So sorry kim. Needed a skinny, boobsy example. Love ya!=)=)=)

For most of the time i don't feel physically fat, but once i step onto the weighing scale and '49kg' glares up at me, it burns a hole right through my memory, such that i'm reminded of it while flipping through the room service menu.

"Caesar's salad or Macaroni and cheese? Hmmm.... "

But i pick the real food everytime. Self-discipline does not exist in this entity. With good measure. I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and starving.
The guy at room service laughed when i ordered 2 scoops of espresso coquant ice-cream with my roesti and veal with creamy mushroom sauce for lunch today.
"What's so funny?", i asked.
He deflected my question by offering to add whip cream and hot chocolate on my dessert.
Lunch was divine by the way. Savoured every last morsel. And when i was done, i had a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth and a dreamy look in my eyes. One happy customer.
Embarrassingly enough while i was struggling to open the door with one hand and balance the lunch tray, the heavy wooden lunch tray large enough to hold; -
1) a bread basket
2) glass of orange juice(which was empty by then)
3) a side plate with tiny salted butter thingies
4) heavy bigass plate, home to my roesti and veal before i devoured them
5) glass bowl with traces of chocolate sauce
6) unnecessarily heavy silverware cutlery
7) one lone pink stalk of rose in a vase, small vase but unnecessary anyhow.
- i managed to lose grip of the tray, sending these items toppling over with a loud crash. So i'm standing at the doorway of my room deliberating whether to
a) Run back inside to throw a jacket or some cloth on to protect my singlet/girlboxers/comfy socks modesty before clearing up my mess
or
b) Haphazardly throw all the items back on the tray and leave the mess to the cleaning lady
or
c) Close the door and pretend it didn't happen.

I couldn't do that to the poor old cleaning lady. She was so sweet the night before, made my bed and gave me extra towels. Neither did i have the time to run in for a decent change of clothes. So i fell to my knees and began picking up all that gunk while muttering curses at myself for being such a klutz. My luck would have it that at that exact moment my next-door neighbours, a family probably spanish(i'm guessing fr the accent) mom + dad + little sister + juve brother, decide to head out for a wintery stroll when they chance upon a little asian girl desperately trying to scoop up the million tiny crumbs left by the half eaten piece of baguette. My friendly next-door neighbours then readily got down on their knees to help me in my plight. Aww....
I'm not sure which bothered me more, the fact that these strangers from another country altogether so readily lent me a helping hand while my own people back home could never be counted on to show half as much compassion, or that i was flashing half my bum cheeks at the helpful family.

Lesson Learnt: Put on some pants before taking out the trash.