I dared to go out without shaving my legs. What's more, I dared to wear a mid-calf-length skirt. To my mind, if I can't see it from where I'm standing then it doesn't really exist. My first year Philosophy teacher might agree.

I remember a time in my youth when I wouldn't have dared, but I have come to realise that what would have mortified me wasn't what others would think but rather what they would say. [Embarressment].

I still care what others might think of me so that is why I hid my legs under the table during a coffee chat with a friend. What I don't care about is what others will say.

My hairy legs don't define me as much as my caring nature, my unlimited energy for good conversation, my prickly sense of fair play and much more. This is why (did I say shave) I have long believed in waxing even if you have to let the hair grow a mile between each bout of self-inflicted pain.

For me, it's a preference and a bit of trial and error and there is a lot of info on the web if you search for it. I wax because when I am 60 and my skin has lost elasticity I don't want razor cuts because my super-slim-pink-lady-razor can't handle the loose, wrinkly skin.