I am a glamorous woman.
I manage to get into the shower at least twice each week, washing myself from head to foot.
I even put mascara and lipstick on once last month.
I told you, I'm totally glamorous.
All summer long, I have been wearing tank tops. Tank tops are appropriate; it's been hot.
It never occurred to me in all my glamor that I hadn't shaved my underarms in 2011. I simply hadn't thought about it.
Last week, I caught a glimpse of the manly appearance of my armpits (in the Olive Garden!) and realized that I needed to address the issue.
The next time I showered, I borrowed Joe's razor and rid myself of the long hairs.
End of story, right?
Last night, while we were at Applebee's with Joe's parents, Grace cuddled under my arm, then backed up, lifted my arm and announced, Momma! Where did all your hair go?
"It's all gone, Gracie."
Why? Why did you get rid of your hair? she asked, touching my now bare skin, tickling me unintentionally.
"I just did," I responded, squirming away.
Once she learned that I was ticklish there, she was relentless.
I'd like to know what the people behind us where thinking. I imagine they weren't noticing how glamorous I am.