A (Too) Close Shave

I need to find a night class called Grooming For Ladies: How To Shave Your Legs Without Hacking Them Into Tiny Little Pieces. Once again this morning my poor pins were subjected to a brutal razor attack, little nicks gushing more blood than seemed strictly necessary. And I'm surprised, quite frankly, that I still have ankles, the amount of times I've emerged from the shower only to spend the next five minutes attending to my wounds. And that's when I'm being careful: there was of course Trouser Wearing Summer, when a slight slip, razor in hand, resulted in a large gouge in one leg. I'm sure there's an art to it. It probably involves time, care, and attention, or something namby pamby like that...



And the alternatives aren't much better: waxing is for masochists, preferably carried out by a sadist (being gentle is not an advantage, believe me); those stupid creams don't work half the time, smell foul and cost a fortune if used regularly; sugaring is messy and time consuming; and then there's epilation. This involves shelling out about £50 for a small torture device, which pulls the hairs straight out, many at a time. I have no definite proof of this, but I firmly believe that even childbirth is less painful. Some models have a small attachment which claims to dull the sensation in the skin prior to use - this is a lie. You may also find that, half an hour into the process, you hurl the damn thing across the room having successfully defuzzed a mere 4 inch square. Not what you'd call efficient. So it looks like I'm stuck with my old razor friend after all...