I just experienced something wholly new and utterly awesome: the feeling of a warm summer breeze blowing off the Hudson and through my thigh hair. Incredible.
Over the winter not only did I gain ten pounds, but I also stopped shaving above my knee for the first time since I was in fifth grade, allowing the fuzz to fill in where nature intended. And then it was no longer fuzz, but a wispy, white-blond covering. Soon after, it morphed into a flaxen shield that sexiness could no longer penetrate, which is where I stand today—leg hair blown back as if I were cruising in a convertible.
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