3/90, shaving, or not

We women, we fight hard to be ourselves, to look the way we want to look because we want to look that way. We convince ourselves that our toes are painted because we like red not because the man we’re sleeping with does. We remind ourselves that skirts are comfortable, not just easy to get into.

Then we become real women, worrying about real things, the things that really make inequality-- but that is another blog post. But for now, I am writing as a college student: egocentric, over- or undersexed depending, irresponsible. I am playing with the stereotypes of myself. I am looking a certain way, or not looking that way because you are. I have two jobs and a scholarship, a house and no legitimate things that I can complain about. If I lost everything, I could still go home. My family would still take care of me. I can admit this.

And that was what I was thinking when this happened.

There are moments when I find myself relieved that I am in a long-distance relationship. They are few, and they are fleeting, but they catch me a bit, hold me off my feet a bit and tighten my chest. I like to acknowledge these moments. They remind me that I am a person, a woman specifically.

It is winter and I am cold and our shower is clogged, filling with hair and cold water no matter how quickly I shower. I hop out before shaving. Two weeks passed this way. I could say that I ran out of razor blades or I couldn’t use my roommate’s shaving cream. I could say that I was waiting to get them waxed. These things are not true.

What is true is that when I moved into the proud warrior pose of my nightly (ok, semi-nightly) yoga, I gasped. Audibly. I ran my hand up my leg to make sure that it wasn’t some optical illusion. I felt my face flush. I looked around.

There was no one. There would be no one for another three weeks. No one to run a hand up my leg or graze against at the bar or lean against on the couch. “So fuck it, right?” I found myself thinking. Well there, then, that’s something. A small relief from the distance; a reminder that he would keep his distance anyway, which in a way, made him feel closer.