The first person I saw today in the library was a woman in a black skirt, white t-shirt, and black tennis shoes. Her thick, wavy red hair was bouncing along with her as she headed briskly for the pay phone - out the door directly behind me.
Something was off. I couldn't figure out what it was. I had only seen her for a moment...and yet...there was something. I just couldn't lay my finger on it.
She came back in after using the phone and walked past. I saw her three more times before I realized what it was.
In the 6 inch gap between her long black flowy skirt and her black tennis shoes her legs were showing. And they were hairy. Not hairy like mine usually are, since I'm not known to be the world's most frequent leg-shaver - but hairy in the sense that she doesn't shave her legs. That she hasn't ever shaved her legs.
And I was both disgusted and happy for her in the same breath. Disgusted because her legs looked masculine. Happy because she could live her life as she wanted and wear skirts in public without being ashamed. That takes courage and individuality.
I'm certainly not going to start up that habit, however.
1 comment:
When i lived in Phoenix one of our neighbors was from England and she didn't shave anything. Although I think the most disturbing that I'll never forget is walking into Smitty's with my mom one day and there's this lady standing by the entrance with a full beard. I'm talking like she had a way better beard than I could ever grow. Kinda freaks you out at the age of 4 when you find an example that crosses the line of gender definement.
Post a Comment