S is for...

Spring is officially here, and everyone is talking about it, as if it were a personal triumph.  There are indicators everywhere.  They are classical ones: daffodils, budding trees, a mild wind scented with pollen.  People have more lilt in their step, as if they know that the winter coats are close to being retired.  I know that spring is almost truly here, or coming, and it is my own peculiar and subtle way.

I do not support this product. I just like the photo.

Subtle?  Perhaps I would write “stubble”, for that is my indicator.  When I sense that spring is coming, I actually want to shave my legs. 

Oh, there is a big difference between having to or needing to and wanting to shave my legs.  All through the long winter, I wear jeans, heavy socks, and sweaters all the time.  Flannel pajamas are the lingerie of my life.  Moisturizer is a popular product on the bedside table.  No one sees my legs, so why should I shave them?  I am not 21 any more, as my mother is known to tell me frequently when I complain about my weight or arthritis.  No one, including my husband, is interested in my legs.

But with Spring, things change.  The capri pants and long shorts are looking more and more like they will be dug out of the drawers in the bureau.  Therefore, the legs must be shaved, and I will do this willingly.

Legs:  Watch out!  I mean business.

Why?  Dang it, it’s spring.