I am on vacation.

Although I feel like a decadent slacker, I must admit that I have not actually been a slug these past few days–I cleaned the car in 95 degree weather, which is an exhausting experience, and I got a bunch of frames for art that I’ve picked up at the various cons, and I weeded the side bed, and I experimented with leg waxing.

This is not nearly as painful as all the bitching and moaning would indicate, although they don’t give you nearly enough wax, which means I have one relatively hairless leg until the drug stores re-open. I should probably make a proper scientific experiment out of this and keep the other leg as a control, shaving as needed, in order to determine whether the time and annoyance of leg-shaving actually exceeds the time and annoyance of waxing, but I dunno. On the other hand, maybe symmetry is for chumps.

I like the smooth leg for purely aesthetic reasons. I do not, however, like shaving, because I have a very small shower that I also like for purely aesthetic reasons, and in order to get a working angle on the leg, I have to brace myself in one corner and stand on one leg, which means that I have to wield the razor very very quickly, and at great personal cost. I tend to put it off, and then we get the stubble thing, and James is forced to say “Pick one! Shave or don’t shave, but commit! The stubble is KILLING ME!” I cannot blame him. If Stubbela, Queen of Sandpaper, appeared in a comic book, she’d have been a villain.

Not that he gets off scott-free on the wax front. The wax is a trifle messy, it sticks to things like, well, wax and I learned I had not cleaned up thoroughly when the plaintive cry came from the bathroom–“OH MY GOD! Why am I welded to the floor?!”

On the bright side, the soles of his feet are totally ready for the beach now.