Me and Dad's razor

Before or after?

Strange how something as natural as female body hair is now something women are told they should be ashamed of.  I'm concerned that we are in danger of creating a generation of John Ruskins and that when the full bush makes a comeback (as it surely will - think the modern obsession with vintage) all these young men will be traumatised and have to undergo graduated exposure therapy.

The fair-haired tend not to be very furry, but as teen I realised that even blonde hair on legs was thought unacceptable - someone stroked my leg (uninvited I should stress) and said that my leg felt like his guinea pig (hope he meant one of those smooth ones, not the tufty type).  Now I love guinea pigs, but I don't think  it was a compliment.  So I borrowed my dad's razor (to both his horror and disgust), shaved my legs and managed to gash the back of my thigh open (scar still there) - the bathroom looked like something from Psycho.  But the said legs did feel rather nice - once the scabs had gone.

Having got the hang of the razor (despite dad's protests - and when have I ever taken notice of them?)  I decide that my eyebrows are grotesque (blonde version of Frieda Kahlo crossed with Breshnev) and need some attention.  There are no tweezers in the house (we didn't have a phone - we're hardly likely to have tweezers), so I take the heavy razor and apply to my left brow - that goes quite well.  I then apply steel (or whatever razor blades are made from) to the right brow, the razor slips and removes half my eyebrow - unfortunately not the outside bit which could easily be hidden.

In despair I inspect my denuded brow - it looks a bit like a baby mouse, pink, naked and vulnerable.  There is no such thing as an eyebrow pencil in our house (Mum being dark and not having need of such things) so I fetch a felt pen and try that - I look a bit like Bette Davis, scrub it off (funny how brown felt pens leave a blue after-stain - chromatography I vagely remember explains this).  So the glowing naked brow is now bright pink with a blue aura.

Disguising it is going to be difficult - I don't have a fringe, just a floppy sheet of hair that will not cover the nude brow.  The hair stays in place if I hold it in my mouth - sadly not practical in the long run.   So I adopt a very low parting - female version of the comb-over.  I think it is hidden quite well, but immediately I go downstairs Mum asks where my eyebrow is, Dad inspects me, looks a bit cross and says, 'In my razor - I expect'.

I would like to say the eyebrow grew back, but sadly it is still patchy.  Perhaps this should serve as a lesson for anyone shaving their punani - be warned it may not grow back  (possibly safer to stick to waxing) - then when fashion changes you'll face a lifetime of wearing merkins.