Deforestation

Two pockets of old-growth forest were arbitrarily razed today. Countless unique species were lost forever, and too late the ruin of a Thylacine den was discovered in the stark desolation.

I hadn’t realised it had been so long since I last shaved my armpits, and I must say, even with my lucky inheritance of the South-East Asian propensity towards sparse body hair, I was surprised at how productive those little follicles have been. It’s not that I think women with unshaven armpits are, as one well-adjusted netizen has opined, ‘lesbian sasquatches’; in fact I see the merit of the argument that ‘real’ women (as opposed to pre-pubescent girls) have hairy armpits, although I haven’t encountered many women who subscribe to that notion within my circle of acquaintance.

When I lived in China it seemed common for women to leave their armpits au naturel, and I still remember my mother wrinkling her nose in distaste at what she considered the East German female Olympians’ unsightly hirsuteness. Perhaps it’s bourgeois to shave? Well, call me a counterrevolutionary running dog, because I choose to maintain depilated axillae – when I’m not living a vanity-neutral (the less charitable might say slovenly) lifestyle, that is.

Shocking as it may seem to those who disagree that house slippers are appropriate footwear in which to go shopping, I’ve enjoyed my year of not wearing makeup, not styling my hair, and completely eschewing pantyhose and high heels. But now it’s time to let my outward appearance reflect my change of circumstances, and smarten up for the office. So I’m taking up the hems on my new trousers, dusting off the makeup, and deciding which hair product to helmet my hair with. Oh, and Ferals? Chaining yourselves to the trunks will not dissuade me: logging starts on my legs tomorrow.