How Long Will it Grow?

Friends!

In keeping with my fashion-rebellious lifestyle, last fall when it got cold (that's below 80 F for me) I decided, just for kicks, to quit shaving my legs to see what would happen, hair-wise.

Let me qualify this by saying that except for my head, I'm not terribly hirsute.  I don't have to shave the 12 lone stragglers under my arms, and the backs of my calves are bare naturally.  But the scientist in me was interested (in a sick and twisted sort of way) in  just how long leg hair would grow.  

So I hung my razor out to dry early last November.  No problem.  I'm a shaving sloth anyway.  The first couple of weeks was fine, and then it was Long Sock Season.  Hubby was vaguely aware of my "project" as I called it, but really didn't pay attention until one day in early February  when we were cruising down the highway and I said "Check out my hairy legs!  It's really getting LONG!" and pulled up my pants leg.

Scott almost drove off the road.

I ended up deforesting my legs the week before my surgery.  In four months the hair grew an inch and a half...and I think it was still getting longer.  My question is, would it have grown forever?  Or is there some predetermined terminal length?  Inquiring Scientific minds want to know.


xx

Trish

Vanity, thy Name is not Trish

Friends!

I want to talk about how we women are pushed into thinking we're not that great, after all.

I know what you're thinking--"I'm great, and nobody pushes ME around!"  But think about it.  How much time and money do women spend on having their hair cut, styled and colored?   Make-up, the stuff that inevitably gives you zits and maybe cause you to scrutinize your wrinkles a little more than what's healthy--why do we wear it?  Whe do we starve ourselves, work out insanely, and have plastic surgery?

WHY?

I know that our species is prgrammed to decorate itself.  I get that.  That's what clothes are for.

I also realize that we're all competative, except for maybe the Daili Lama.  So I understand the need to stand out and be better.  But who defines "better"?  Companies that want to sell you stuff.  Often useless, sometimes dangerous, purse draining products.  And we women buy it--their stuff, along with the dream of an ultimate look, body, whatever. 

Ladies, I bought into the dream for years.  I did the hair, the nails, the make up, the starving.  In college at school I barely ate--this was the 80's and waif thin was the way to go.  How was I gonna look good if, god forbid, I weighed over 100 pounds and had bad hair and no makup and nude nails?  All the ads in magazines and on TV said I had to be a certain way to be "right".  Ads that very subtly said that if I didn't look a particular way, there was something fundamentally wrong with me.  If I got a wrinkle or forgot to tweeze my brows, it was a character fault.  If I graduated from a size 3 into a size 8 I was a hedonistic overeating slob.  A person who didn't strive to be perfect.

I don't do perfect.  I do happy.  And I work very hard on happy, every single day. 

My whole life I've been clinically depressed and anxious.  I've had a few tumbles into the abyss, one of which came perilously close to a trip to a room where the doors lock only on the outside.  And a lot of it, I see now, is my own damn fault.  First and foremost is simply being stubborn and not wanting to admit I need medication.  I'm past that.  Secondly, and more insiduously is the constant drone in the background:  "You could be Better!  You could be Prettier!  You could Improve Yourself!" the soul sucking sussuration of society.  Nowadays, I refuse to listen, and strangely enough, I have my job to thank for that.

 Work, along with providing a living, has pared me down and weaned me from self ornementation.  Some of my shedding has been practical; i.e. there's no good reason to get all dolled up for a graveyard shift.  I wear a hard hat a lot...practical ponytail to the rescue.  No fancy nails cause I get dirty sometimes.  Oh, and I wear a uniform, so no clothes worries.  Plus, I work with people who value me for my skills, not skillful make up.  After work?  Hubby loves me as I am, no matter what I look like.  And so do I.

Finally.


I would LOVE to hear your thoughts...please leave me a comment!


xx

trish


UPDATE:  Keep the comments coming!  I want to do another related post and I need your input!
Hurrah for friends!