I write this blog knowing that I am opening myself up to some vulnerability, but if it makes one person chuckle, to me it is worth it.  But let me warn you in advance, if you have delicate eyes and/or prude sentitivities, it may be way too much information.

About seven weeks ago I was posting on a thread on a message board I'm a part of, when the topic of natural deoderant came up.  I'd like to avoid aluminum in my body, and was looking for an alternative to anti-perspirants that actually worked.  Lots of crunchy (as in granola) women frequent this board, and the thread veered down a bunny trail when a couple posters mentioned how they had stopped shaving their underarms and legs.  "Hmmm... I never liked shaving anyway...hmmm....I live in Alaska....no shorts or sleeveless shirts til summer...I'll probably never wear a swimsuit up here...Hmm... What would Nathan say? ... Hmm... how long would it take for Nathan to notice?"  So began my experiment of getting back to my German roots.

As anyone who has lived in a dorm with Europeans, or gone to the Grand Canyon in summertime, knows - European women don't shave!   Now why is that?  How do they get away with that?   From an article I found on the internet I learned that American  women were brainwashed into believing they had a problem - namely unsightly underarm hair, and began falling for the marketing ploy in 1915, with the leg hair propoganda coming later.  If you must see the full article, here it is.

Now my dad is 100% German and grew up speaking "old German" as a young boy in the home, so I felt my little experiment was justified by my ancestry.  One week goes by, two, three.  Jeans, long dresses, boots, sweaters, they hid my little experiment well.  I've always considered Nathan perceptive, but I suppose there is a difference between being perceptive and noticing details.  Six weeks go by and I'm tempted to mow the garden, but no, I have to see when he will notice.  Now I have a habit of liking to have my legs scratched, and have Nathan trained pretty well as Pavlov's scratcher.  Leg flop...scratch.  Seven weeks go by, and I do the flop, he starts scratching, but then he looks, his eyes get huge, and he says, "Honey????   That is disgusting!  What is that????"  Meanwhile, I'm dying laughing, and he looks at me like I am the sickest person alive, and says, "I don't find this amusing."  I explain to him about being crunchy, European women and German roots, Alaska wilderness, but he retorts, "You ARE going to shave those."   He then promptly changed the subject by reading aloud from Chaim Potok, letting me know - end of discussion.

So alas, I dulled a couple razors, but the deed is done.  Back to civilization...back to women's progress...back to the ideals of beauty in our western culture.  It was fun while it lasted, but I really need to close now.  I've got to go buy a bottle of liquid drano.