Hairy

Just finished shaving my legs in the tiny, pokey shower cubicle in our booking.com flat here in Cambridge (enormously more roomy than the legendary shoilet of Copenhagen, so don’t for a moment think that I’m complaining) – lost my balance and nearly fell out onto the bathroom floor several times, banged my head on the shower door twice. I hate depilation. But actually that reminds me of a bet I had with my daughter a while ago – if she managed to make it to 14 without shaving her legs, I was going to run naked around the garden shouting “I’m a weiner! I’m a weiner!” (There is a family precedent). She won, but never collected. I always assumed she’d either forgotten or was being kind – but could there be another reason?  I suspect complex forces at play.