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Today I had to go to to a store and buy things. Somehow that always overwhelms me. What if I don’t buy the RIGHT kind of containers, what if there is a BETTER option for hand soap, what if that OTHER kind of face lotion is actually better than the one I chose?! I always come home feeling defeated and exhausted, but then once I put things away and settle back in to my routine I realize that it’s ok if I bought the wrong things because it’s not the end of the world and I’m going to keep being me and it really doesn’t matter what type of nail polish remover I got, because it will all remove my nail polish anyway.

Oh yeah, and here’s a picture of my armpit hair. It’s getting so long!

A little while ago, I posted a picture of the few small hairs that are growing on my right breast (there’s one on my left too, but it’s not as interesting). Lately I’ve realized that they’ve actually grown quite long so I figured it’s worth revisiting that same breast to see the growth process.

Now, as I stated before, I have usually plucked those out because I thought that it was horrible, unruly and downright manly for a woman to grow hair on her breasts, but I’ve realized that it’s actually really goddamn normal. The amount of women who have emailed me since I posted that picture stating that they ALSO thought they were total weirdos for growing a couple of hairs on their chest has certainly made me realize that I am not alone in this and that there’s no reason in the world I should pluck them out or be embarrassed of them. Because you know what? I love my breasts. Stray hairs, big areolae and stretch marks included.

I haven’t posted a photo in a couple of days because I’ve been traveling. Turns out, sleeping on the train isn’t as easy as I thought even if it IS the middle of the night. I wonder how many different ways a person can curl up on a seat in a train? Head facing the aisle, head away from the aisle, sprawled over your suitcase, leaning backwards, leaning forwards… it goes on and on. And none of them work. Maybe some day I’ll figure out how to sleep while traveling in a plane/train/bus/car/boat/spaceship/dragon/carriage… etc. I feel like that would be a very useful skill to have.

No interesting stories or observations today, just a picture of my bush.

I found a pair of high heels last night which prompted a strange idea to form in my mind. The idea was this: I can’t wear heels anymore if I have leg hair. Without even thinking about it, my brain decided that these heels that I used to love and wear proudly were now items that didn’t belong on me because my legs didn’t match the aesthetic anymore of sleek, smooth and sexy.

As soon as I realized that, I started tearing that thought apart and giving it some good hard analysis. Why do I feel that way? Who told me that? Is that true at all? Why would I possibly stop wearing heels just because I stopped shaving my legs?

Upon some consideration, I realized that you know what? The answer is no, I don’t have to stop wearing high heels just because I stopped shaving my legs. They’re my damn shoes and I can wear them when I please, leg hair or no. I like the way they look on my legs and I feel good in them, just like I like the way my legs look with hair on them. Those two things don’t have to be one or the other, I can have both. I can rock the shit out of high heels AND have hairy legs. There has never been a “rule” telling me that I can’t, just something inside of my own mind which I realized and then promptly ripped apart and discarded last night.

(And I have no idea how I got that bruise on my leg…)