Shaving Down There

It pleased me to no end to learn that not all women in the world are required to shave or wax the area below the belly and between the legs in order to be attractive to a lover. In parts of Europe, only prostitutes are expected to do so.

(from Grimpen Mire)

Day Spas.

H was over last night: told me that he'd spent the day working on some publicity for a spa downtown that was looking to expand its market to men. One of the things that they were now offering was a 45 minute shave.

Forgive me for not being able to wrap my mind around this one, but doesn't 45 minutes seem a bit extreme? I'm a woman who shaves her armpits and legs (= more surface area than a man covers normally) and it doesn't take me anymore than 20 minutes to do a good, thorough job. Heck, I'm sure that professional swimmers don't take any more than a half hour maybe - and they make up the only group that I'd grant leeway to in this matter.

Where was I going on this? Oh, right. Day spas for men. I understand that the business of pampering one's self is a big one nowadays, as society in general tends more towards self-indulgence than probably ever before. Men, too, are urged to get more in touch with their 'feminine' sides. I should be more tolerant about this perhaps, un peu moins "vieux jeu," but, well, I just keep thinking of the dandies in the court of Louis XVI just before the revolution: feminized, infantine, decadent, of not much use to anyone.

Yes, yes, I am prejudiced and a bit unevolved in my thoughts on beauty/luxury culture. Yes, yes, I do know that I should be a bit more flexible, and I'm trying. I just can't see a man whose idea of going to the spa isn't of wallowing in a mud bath with middle-aged Germans and who spends more on beauty products than I do as being particularly masculine or even anyone I'd want around the house much.

Disclaimer: I live in Metrosexual Central, and I fear that I am far more man than many of the men in my neighborhood.

(from Grimpen Mire)

Leftovers.

"One reason that they are disdained is that usually they can never happen again. They can never taste the same, and good eaters do not wish to form any addictions that are hopeless from the start. Another trouble with them is that their recipes are almost impossible to write. The is no way to capture again the taste of a cupful of yesterday's sauteed mushrooms put at the last minute into a spinach soup because two more people turned up for supper."

- MFK Fisher.

In my fridge right now I have several lemon wedges, a nibble of swordfish, a few spoonfuls of fromage blanc, strawberries, salad and a couple sips of white wine left from last week. I guess it all could be combined to make a snack for a solitary me. How to do so in such a way as to not evoke the feeling of waking up late one morning to a breakfast of grilled swordfish and white wine, the taste of berries popped into each other's mouths as a sexy, silly, hasty dessert, the thrill felt when presented with a picturesque springtime dinner of fresh-boiled lobster with oysters prepared as if to win a girl's heart?

Oh, no. I don't want to get addicted to his câlins, to the memories conjured up by his leftovers in my fridge. What an expensive, complicated problem that would be. On the other hand, waste not want not, right? And, why not for a change think of something other than the the potential for getting hurt? How about I just move forward and see where a clean fridge and an open door to my heart might lead?

-Isn't this cute? Found it over at Nick's place.

Busier'n a one-legged man in an a$$-kicking contest right now between work and home. I'm sure I'll be back at some point after the pace slows down. Until then, take care of yourselves and enjoy the springtime.

A friend told me that I seemed frighteningly buoyant today. Funny, but am trying my darndest to be a bit less down. Feels more like waterlogged flailing.

Vacation really didn't help much, either. In fact, it did more to exhaust and add to the stress of the life 'at home' than relax or refresh.

Spring's always been a tough one for me. I like the blossoms, the warmth, the musical bird canopies I pass under on the way to work. Graduation time depresses the hell out of me, though, and I wish I could be on the other side of the planet. Don't know if that would help ease the feeling of being wasted potential for not having left here like I was supposed to; probably not. All my stuff would still be here and I'd have to come back and get it.

Monday's Flowers are crocuses from the Green Mountains, where we spent a fun but tiring week away from The City.

Back.

Still tired.

It IS the start of Poetry Month, however, so why not pay a visit to my little April timeshare. Will be spending more time there than here this month, I imagine.