Skinny Legs

This past summer N asked if I might teach her how to shave her legs.

I tried my best to maintain a cool exterior, and continued to peel potatoes at the sink. If she never shaved her legs the hair would stay soft and blonde. It would never feel stubbly or coarse. Hasn't everyone's mother made this case? Mine did. It's a compelling argument and when I was ten I nodded in agreement, looked at my feet, and then the next time I was in the bathtub I promptly shaved my legs. It was a razor that had rusted so my legs were all sliced up by the time I was "done".

N was still staring at me in the kitchen. This whole leg-shaving thing was obviously something that required me to muster a response. Darn. I took a deep breath and agreed that some guidance on this matter was a good plan since razorblades were involved. I further reasoned that fall or winter would be the best time to learn since some nicks and cuts were part of learning. Long pants could cover up her learning curve over the winter months. She nodded and I crossed my fingers this the topic would disappear into the abyss never to raise it's sharp head again. 

Nope. She meant it and asked again once the weather turned cold. I meant it too when I said it was a good idea to get some guidance. I thought it was obvious, though, that her mother wasn't the best source of support there. You know, ~razorblades~ were involved for goodness sake! This is my kid we're talking about. Huh. 

So last night we perched ourselves on the side of the tub, lathered up with shaving cream, and started at the ankle. She has these skinny legs that I don't often notice. They're elegant and awkward with knobby knees and perfect, porcelain skin. I coached her about taking long strokes with the razor rather than short swipes. Rinse off the blades and don't apply too much pressure. She caught on pretty quickly,  only nicked her knee once. And I only cried for a little bit.