I HATE THE BITCHES FROM THE YEAR 1915.

My alarm went off at 6:00am this morning, just like any other day. Then again at 6:15. Again at 6:30. And once more at 6:45. I laid in bed, dreading the very second my warm body will be swallowed by the cold that my blankets had protected me from. I picked up my clothes I had set aside the night before, and began my zombie journey down the stairs to the living room. I turned the corner, which would put me right in front of my bathroom mirror. Ugh, mornings. I began my morning ritual. My hair was in every direction except how I wanted it to be. It wasn't even in a way that I could manipulate it into a hairdo that makes others believe I actually give a shit what my hair looks like. I brushed my teeth, right before accidentally hitting my gums with my toothbrush, because apparently my hand-eye coordination gets worse the more I age. So that's fucking cool. (Random fun fact: if you're ever around me, while I'm drinking anything, listen closely: i always hit my cup/bottle/glass/can on my tooth accidentally. Why? I don't know, my aim is terrible apparently.) Moving on. Next, is deodorant, followed by other things, but those other things are irrelevant, because as I put on my deodorant, I saw my terrible armpit landscaping job. This prompted a thought into my head. I wondered: who. in the mother fuck. decided that women should shave nearly every inch of their bodies, while men can prance around in their hairy mane without a care in the world?

Back to the morning ritual, my shit-attempt. During my shit-attempt, I did some quick google research. I HAD to get to the bottom this. Here's what I googled: who in the fuck decided women should shave. Turns out, it was bitches from 1915. Around that time, fashion began to change to more sheer material. So, some stupid bitches in charge of a magazine called Harper's Bizarre started producing ads, expressing that under-arm hair should be 'as smooth as your face'. (Uh, bitch, no it shouldn't). So basically, these bitches were bitching about a problem that didn't exist until they made it into a problem (shocking. *eyeroll*). Fast forward 5 years to the roaring 1920's. Women got sluttier, dresses got shorter, sheer stockings got popular, and fashion magazines set their sights on leg hair. They literally scared the shit out of women by convincing them that hairy legs were extremely unhygienic and beyond unnatural. And, those fears still stick with us today.

Let's break this down. Let's say it takes me 10 minutes to shave my legs. And, to maintain smooth legs, I'll shave once a week. 52 weeks in a year, so that's 520 minutes a year that I spend shaving my legs. Next, let's say I started shaving at 13, and I live to be 85. My guess is that I'll stop giving a fuck around 65. That's 52 years of shaving. 520 minutes for 52 years. That's 27,040 minutes that I'll spend shaving my legs. And that's only legs alone! That doesn't count arms, armpits, and my forbidden fruit garden. And ladies, we all know how long THAT takes. Son. of a. BITCH. And the craziest part of all of this: sometimes when the hair grows back, it hurts. And it hurts BAD. I hate shaving. i HATE it. And i'm terrible at it too. I finish shaving, sit down to admire my freshly shaven legs, only to find a this stretch of hair that goes from my ankle up to my knees. And sister, don't even get me started on the knees. God damn it. Shaving knees is like eating a goats asshole. It's not pleasant for anyone involved.

I will never ever forgive the people at Harper's Bullshit Magazine for enforcing a 'shave your everything' law on women. Why couldn't the fashion industry be like: The longer the body hair, the more men will desire you. Or even like: New invention, curlers and beads for your leg hairs. Hell, I'd even settle for: Got a long muff? Try this stuff! Muff oil for easy braiding.

Maybe I'll start producing a magazine that convinces people that men should shave their everywhere. Maybe, just maybe, I could begin saving the world. One precious pube at a time.