So, there I was, prepping to run a 5K race. I went in to register and they wouldn't let me. I was very upset. "But why? Why can't I run the 5K? I've been training, I promise!"
The ruggedly good looking guy behind the registration table replied, "Ma'am" (that's never a good sign for a young chick like me) "You need to shave your legs."
Gasp! What? How dare he imply . . . I look down and holy freaking hannah!
My legs are hairy. No, no. Not just hairy. They are gloriously hairy, with long golden-reddish blonde hair. Thick and beautiful. Totally worthy of expensive hair products and a hair dryer after stepping out of the shower (cause there's no way you'd take a bath with all that hair!).
It was so long and beautiful and glorious that it put the hair on my own head to shame.
Which is so, so, so wrong.
So what did I do? I immediately went out to buy a men's industrial size electric razor to hack off the I'm-better-than-your-head hair. The you-look-like-that-furry-Star Wars creature hair. The hair that I couldn't figure out how to pull a pair of yoga pants over. It was terrifying!
Then I woke up, rubbed my legs and sighed. Because I had just shaved my very hairy (although not as hairy as my dream's legs) the night before. Whew!
