So I drew myself a nice, warm bath and busted out the old ball and chain's shaving gel, because I'll dry shave before I spend money on some frothy pink girlie foam that smells like synthetic berries. I let my stems soak for a good long while, coated them in invigorating lather, and uncorked a brand-new petal pink razor. I made my first pass, ever so carefully, rinsed the razor thoroughly and... holy hair follicles, Batman, is that blood? Yes, friends, one stroke in and I had already managed to cut myself.

By the end of the second leg I'd lost count of my nicks and razor burns. I toweled off and slapped on some soothing aloe gel, only to realize I'd missed a spot. Not wanting to go through the whole process again, I grabbed the still-damp razor and gave everything another quick once over. Then a speedy rinse-off, more aloe and few dots of toilet paper to plug the more aggressive cuts. From start to finish I'd just wasted 45 minutes of my life.

But what about the results, you ask. My legs looked skinny and pale, with little red splotches here and there. It took until the next morning for the irritation to go away. Of course by then, the hair was triumphantly pushing upward again, like a field of flowers thirsty for the sun.