Flashback Friday…

As I was shaving this morning I couldn’t help but smile and remember the very first time my legs were shaved…



Growing up, our family naturally split into clicks. Paula and James were in their own world, Lizzy and Cole were best friends, and John, Mike, and I were attached at the hip.

So it should come as no surprise that I wasn’t the most ‘feminine’ of the girls. John, Mike, and I were the reason mom had to enact the ‘shower at least once per week’ rule.

When I hit 13, Cole would constantly tell me that I needed to shave my legs. I was completely aware of the hour and a half it took her and Liz to get ready and I wanted NOOOOO part of that business.

Cole had started shaving at about the age of 9 declaring to mom, ‘I fell in the shower and the razor accidentally shaved my legs.’ She was a die hard fan of hairlessness.

Months went by while Cole and I continued to debate the issue.

Cole was a rather plump teen and would frequently use her weight to intimidate the rest of us.

And by intimidate, I mean… sit on us (which is probably why Liz and I have permanent serious cases of claustrophobia). She’d tell you to do something and if you didn’t, she would sit on you until you caved (literally and figuratively).

One summer afternoon, I walked into the bedroom Cole, Liz, and I shared wearing a tiny pair of purple shorts. Cole angrily glared at me while I walked by her with my defiantly unshaven legs. She calmly walked out and came back in 3 minutes later with a can of shaving cream, a razor, and a very intimidated Lizzy at her side.

She quickly cornered me, shoved me to the ground, and sat on me while screaming to Lizzy, ‘Spray her down with shaving cream and go! Go! Go!!!’

I tried to fight back but quickly realized that fighting back resulted in nicks from the razor.

10 long minutes later, my legs were cleanly shaved. I told Nicole I hated her and went into the bathroom to rinse off. As I put my legs under the cool water, I rubbed my hands on them to wash off the patches of blood mixed with shaving cream and noticed… they felt really… nice.

I dried them off and stared at them in the mirror while thinking, ‘Holy cow! I have cool looking legs!’

I never admitted to Cole that I actually liked the result but I continued to shave under the argument that I didn’t like ‘itchy, spiky’ legs.

I’m not sure when I would have started shaving. Probably when I began to think boys were cute when I was like… 20.

So, thank you Cole for sitting on me – that time and ONLY that time. I like my legs.