When Hairy Met Kevie

Often, it is the little things that bring the most joy. I have been known to bliss out over a small cup filled to the brim with coffee and frothed milk. Or how about a cupcake? Small, yet tasty and delicious-an instant, “oh yeah” moment. Life often rewards us with small chunks of delight, where we least expect them and I do appreciate that. I received one such small gift this week.


Now is the time of year where I start to feel like a frisky Shetland pony, growing its wooly, winter coat. The days are cooler and the need for the razor becomes less and less of a priority. I suffer (and I use that word in all seriousness) from appallingly sensitive skin, and summer’s rigid shaving requirements often have me feeling quite out of sorts with my irritated and bumpy armpits. As the sleeveless blouses and tank tops are replaced by longer sleeves and cardigans, my armpits and I both rejoice. In the fall and winter, I like to take a week or so between shaving to cultivate things in a more European fashion. No one sees it anyway with my toasty wardrobe. Iam a big fan of warm clothing.
I should interject here with the staunch and steadfast displeasure that this cool weather ritual brings to my hubby. Having lived in Europe for some time, he is a distinct non-fan of the au naturel look and to be frank, disgusted by it on many levels. His trauma started with a hot German girl on a crowed bus, him being 15, and a quick grab by standing hottie for the hand strap; flashing a hirsute underarm in his young and unsuspecting face. It was all downhill from there, as my abused and over shaven underarms can testify.
I have often tried ways to redirect his way of thinking, but he is pretty set on the matter. But then the ultimate bargaining chip fell directly into my lap, the proverbial gift from heaven, in the form of an info packet from the radiation oncologist on Wednesday, holding perhaps the best news in the world. The packet cautioned me that through out treatment, I should not shave my underarm. And just like that, my fall starting looking up. Way up. Laters.