I have completed my ritual of spring -

heteronormative removal of body hair is done and done. I don't mind being hairless - and I'm not willing to deal with the baggage that comes with wearing swirly femmey skirts with unshaven legs - but I do always rather miss my pelt once I've removed it. There's something about the idea of the hairy, natural, animal body that appeals to the latent hippie in me.

It's one of the reasons why I really like old books - because the ladies in nineteenth century novels? They ain't shaving no legs. Not to mention Shakespearean heroines or any girl in any medievalized high fantasy novel ever.