OK, I know some of you are thinking, “This is an aspiration? Does she not bathe?” That is because you are fancy ladies, and I am a Yeti

Keeping my legs smooth is like hacking back Amazon rainforest growth with a machete — futile, rife with peril. It seems like a few hours after I shave, I have stubble again, and only recently did I stop cutting myself every damn time.

Still, the strongest predictor of future happiness is doing things that have made you happy in the past. And having smooth legs is such an unexpected pleasure. Bathwater is like silk, your clothes sigh against you, and waking up in the morning is so luxurious when your leg hair isn’t sandpapering away your skin.

Shaving makes walking up the street exponentially better. Every time my legs brush together it’s a tiny surprise, “Oh! I shaved! I am spectacularly soft right now.”

And wittier. And more winning.

So for the next thirty days I’ll be softer around the edges, and enjoying all the pants-free time my heart desires.

Man, I wish I meant that in a slutty way.