I’ve managed to get to a very advanced age without ever having waxed any of my body parts. But today I had my legs waxed for the first time ever. This is because:
1. My legs are quite nice and soon they’ll be the only part of me that isn’t heading south. As my dad elegantly phrased it: “Legs are the last to go”.
2. A few weeks ago I tried using extra gentle depilatory cream with added gentleness and kindness AND aloe vera and came out in a nasty red rash to complement the stubbly bits I’d missed. Sexy!!!!
Luckily the lady I went to was an expert, and cunningly pressed a copy of Hello into my hand so I was avidly reading a ten page Geri Halliwell interview on how she feels that celebrity no longer feeds her soul the way it used to, just as my legs were being divested of their hair. And indeed, it was a bit uncomfortable but not in the way doctors say to you in the second stage of labour, “this might be a bit uncomfortable” as you’re fantasising about shoving an operating table up his smug arse but you’d happily sell your first born for an epidural type of uncomfortable.
And tonight I’m taking the Boy and a friend to see the Foo Fighters. Is he grateful? Well when I told him I’d got tickets, his reply was: “I don’t want to go too early because the support band is bound to be crap”.
I may rethink my promise about not referring to him as my toyboy tonight.