Hairy Removal Business

In life, it needn't take the likes of genius to realize that destiny awaits a lifetime of trouble and deeply unwanted hassle which, in order to strengthen and gain faith in our abilities to cope with being caught in an unearthly disaster, we need to go through, otherwise we would be turning a blind eye to what we truly are at heart: human. Even the most privileged of society cannot entirely escape the problems which continue to plague every day life, whether this dilemmas are miniscule or as big as the increasing ache developing in your head, but we learn to get on with our priorities and make the most of what is untouched from any imperfections.

Still, I couldn't really care less about this theory, which takes a back seat in my mind when I go on a wild, hormone-fuelled rampage from time to time. The reason why? If I were to show you the physical evidence - which, along with causing plenty of red-faced embarrassment for myself, but would also put you off eating for eternity - the hysteria which would bubble over the surface and create a full-on disaster is all too dangerous, plus I'm hardly in the mood to strip my tights off in the oh-so-chilly morning.

In case you hadn't already guessed it, let me free you from this agonizing ache which comes with using too much brain power at such an early time of day: I have a hairy problem. From my legs to my arms to other places which aren't even worth mentioning (nor worthy of the time dedicated to shaving), I've been battling against controlling the stubby, dark-as-night hair which regularly grows on these problematic areas for years, continuously robbing me of vital energy which could be put to better (and epilator-free) use.

Plenty of girls might be able to relate to my irritating issue because it usually comes with the territory of embarking on the path towards adulthood - ah, the endless perils of puberty strike again - as our bodies begin to produce hair which one of the many parts associated with becoming a woman, some of which immediately send alarm bells ringing. To make matters worse, my hair is deep-as-sea dark brown which, despite sharing a similar appearance to the enviable locks which L'Oréal spokeswoman and model Cheryl Cole keeps in fantastic condition (albeit I don't have a native Geordie accent), puts more than I can handle onto a massive plate.

Apart from my desire to remain on-top of my cleaning regime, I only wish to focus my attention upon gaining the best marks possible within my education, but I cannot turn a blind eye towards my hairy issues (once again, I apologize if the adjective makes you lose your appetite for a week or so) which, like having a daily bath and ridding my hair of non-cookery-related oil on a two day basis, counts as a major part in maintaining my hygiene. If I believed differently, would I even be making a big deal over this issue at all?

At times like these, I turn my green-with-envy self towards wishing for blonde, almost invisible hair which wouldn't require as much as epilating - an option of hair removal which I'll discuss in a moment - like I currently do, but whenever I'm not experiencing a mini panic attack over my hair-related problems (the unwanted kind, of course), I generally enjoy being a brunette and have no desire to dye my locks to a lighter colour, rendering my dream of having lighter hairs on my arms and legs unnecessary. All in all, morphing into a pink-obsessed Barbie lookalike overnight would probably not cure me of my undiagnosed moaning disorder - if the hairs, regardless of their colour, are still there, my problem hasn't found a cure, has it?

Anyway, my unwanted hairs didn't necessarily appear out of nowhere the moment that puberty officially arrived several years ago, partly due to being a member of the dark-haired gang and my initial reluctance to get rid of the oh-so-noticeable problem. When I used to attend a primary school - which, by the way, was the greatest school that I had ever attended and was where I had formed plenty of bulletproof friendships - in the county to which I've just moved back as a cute-faced youngster, I recall one occasion when several of friends - both boys and girls - noticed the tediously long hairs growing on my legs, giving a remarkable resemblance to a field of tall rapeseed. One boy, which whom I was close friends, even suggested that I should remove the hairs, but my young self was unsure over how to go about it; as my head was mainly filled with passions for Bratz dolls and occasionally topless Barbie dolls (as I couldn't be bothered over finding a decent top for her), what would I know about something which was strongly rooted in adult territory?

Skip forward several years - where my hatred for all things hairy (though I made an exception for my mane of glossy locks and my old cats' silky-soft tabby fur) became a matter which I could no longer ignore - and I was trying my hand at a hair removal cream, otherwise known as the popular brand Veet, as a vain means of gaining the hair-free legs of my dreams. Having had no knowledge regarding shaving creams - which my mum picked out as a blade-free introduction to the life-long regime of hair removal - I was taken aback by the horrible stench by the cream which, had I not known better, looked as appealing as a bowl of whipped cream.

Whenever my mum applied and washed the cream off me after around ten minutes - in all honesty, I should have ran hundred miles or so as soon as I caught sight of the strict 'don't leave on beyond ten minutes' warning on the tube - my legs would feel as soft as I'd always hope and I would have no qualms about wearing a skirt for the rest of the day, desperate to show off my hair-free legs to the world. It was even more so of a relief when the shaving cream was used during the summer as either donning a pair of shorts or a skirt was a compulsory order, putting my mind - scared stiff of having to bear two legs scattered with as many hairs as a farming field - at ease for a while.

However, on the occasions that I did try to use the cream by myself, I never quite managed to get rid of all the unwanted hairs, despite using the required amount and leaving the cream on for the maximum time period. If this ever occurred, I was often left with the choice of plucking the remaining hairs with my fingers as using an ordinary shaving blade would have provoked the hairs to grow back in a stubby form, most recognized as a hair removal disaster. So, with my dreams of having heavenly smooth legs - and not to mention the other areas under threat - in tatters, I set upon the task of discovering a revolutionary method by waving au revoir to my loathsome enemy and welcoming a new friend: epilating.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the method of epilating, an epilator is an mechanical device which, once charged or inserted with batteries, plucks the hairs beneath the root and is associated with decreasing the amount of hairs that grow back, unlike the method of shaving or using hair removal creams which only get rid of the visible hairs on the surface. At first, cue plenty of watery eyes and perhaps a couple of tears as you get to grips with epilating which, when one has been used to shaving for a certain amount of time, always hurts as hell for the first couple of occasions until your skin and hair growth adjusts to the tingling sensation. When I plucked (pardon the pun) up the courage to borrow my mum's epilator a few years ago, I sobbed like a baby for the first half an hour because the pain was beyond unbearable; do believe me when I say that epilating is a pain like you have ever experienced!

Along with turning your nose a measly shade of red (one of the many joys of sobbing your heart out) and making you wince every five seconds, epilating is supposed to make hairs grow back finer which, after being faced with stubby remains in the past, is a positive to the many setbacks you undergo when the switchover from shaving to epilating begins.

However, this doesn't necessarily mean that darker hairs like my own will become so fine that only a magnifying glass would be able to see them as, several years of converting to epilating, I continue to get hairs which I can (and also feel) still see, which is a pain nonetheless. Even after purchasing a Braun epilator for my birthday over a year ago - besides a homemade chocolate cake and a set of hair curlers, an expensive hair removal gadget had to steal the limelight on the best day of the year - I'm unlikely to declare that I've left my hairy days behind in the past, despite the famed epilator being of some benefit to me and having a pure-white light which makes the weekly chore much easier.

All in all, I've come to the conclusion that, as my body gets used to growing hairs and developing in other areas, it will be some time yet until the speed at which my hairs grow slows down, a dream of which will hopefully become a reality in the nearby future. For the downsides that I may get for being burdened with unwanted hairs, I ought to appreciate the uplifting benefits of being in good health which, after recently catching the plague (a.k.a. a common cold), I no longer take for granted.

Factoring the time that it takes to charge the device (which unfortunately cannot be used whilst plugged into a socket) and getting into the nitty-gritty itself, epilating only takes an hour from my time each weekend, though I often wish that it could be a quicker task as there are more interesting matters - such as relaxing on my two education-free days, for example - which I'd prefer to do. Once again, I've wondered about going back to shaving as it wouldn't take a massive chunk out of my time, but I live in hope that using an epilator will significantly reduce my hairs sometime soon.

This hairy business of mine - and of so many women around the world - might be an extreme bother, but at least we are in a position to remove it; how would we survive without our must-have tools?