I have a confession to make: I’m 33-years-old and I still don’t know how to shave my legs. I mean, okay, I know how to shave my legs, but I don’t know how to shave my legs. Not in a way that doesn’t result in ingrown hairs, irritation, and ashy skin. I am really bad at it, and I have to do it all the time because I am eastern European and blessed (cursed) with thick, dark, coarse leg hair that grows with the speed and veracity of a toddler on HGH.
And that’s where you come in…
Dear Razor,
We go back a long way, you and me. We’ve gotten together a few times a week since 8th grade, although according to some of the girls in my class I should have become acquainted with you at least a year earlier. On the whole, our relationship has been delightfully smooth (see what I did there?), but there’s something we need to discuss, something that hasn’t changed in the past 13 years and is making it hard for me to trust you… Keep reading »
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