More Time for the Revolution

I started shaving my legs in sixth grade, after an impassioned campaign begging my mom to let me. Other girls my age had shaved, smooth, hairless legs, and I desperately wanted to be like them. Images on T.V. and in magazines reinforced my desire. I can picture myself sitting in the school locker room, observing my classmates and feeling such longing to cross over into the world having shaved legs. As if removing my leg hair would actually give me the security of being accepted by others. As if it would make it possible for me to accept myself.