The legs are shaved, the wounds are healing, and now I just have to find some way to pass the next four hours before the dearest that is my fellow knocks at my door. I'm still in awe at how I can manage to maim my legs after shaving (although by no means regularly) for the past seven years. I remember a few years back when my mom used to shave and she would have streams of blood flowing down her chicken-like legs every time she took a razor to them. Now she only has nine toes, but the toe loss was unrelated to any sort of hair removal.

So I wonder how a woman of 50 can manage to massacre herself so badly. Am I doomed to the same fate? Is it in the genes or is it common for women to fear themselves once their fingers touch a pale pink, seemingly harmless, razor? I cringe to think what my pasty legs might look like in 30 years. I hope I can at least keep all of my toes, even though the old lady's four-toed foot looks pretty damn cool.

There's got to be some sort of entertainment around here... Maybe, like, homework or something, considering next week is finals week. But that would be just silly. Flat out wrong. I'm going to go lick my wounds. Ick.