Not callin' anyone out, but you know better, reader.
This is very old-Seventeen-magazine of me, but I'm suddenly very interested to find out about my peers' first-shave experiences, and not nearly as interested in reading pdf files off of a computer screen. Maybe I can re-work my already unprofitable, silly-sally academic concentrations to interview people about their embarrassing tween-ages.
Anyway, I remember the girls' locker room in grade 7--which is to say, the locker room--starting to bustle at some point with loud questions about shaving from this girl, P. She seemed a little past the fringe of the 'popular' group--a group informally put together, mostly in haste, as almost the entire influx of junior school girls had come from different schools/countries. I was a year younger than everyone else and not much part of any grade 7 group, but P. became very handy for overhearing (or being bombarded with) conversations and questions about normal girl/teenage things that I could find out about myself through magazines, but was still insanely curious as to what tangible, Real Canadian girls were experiencing.
I shaved my legs for a short time during my stay at this school. Soon after, I realized that I could wear slacks even on Mondays (the required blazer&kilt days) and that I wouldn't really get chastised. Also, I realized that other than some teachers, there were no males at this school older than age 10. Also, I realized that a lot of girls who DID shave their legs regularly were also some of the girls who, driven gaga by "MOON CYCLES" (I suppose), would gush about how hot the new second-grade teacher was--aka the only male in between age 10 and age late-forties. So even in the midst of un-AC'd humid Canadian summers, paid no mind to my legs, bared or not.
It wasn't until I got back to the States a little later, and hence back to public schooling and boys, and on a hot day decided to wear shorts, and realized that black hair is pretty conspicuous on pasty gams. Not that it mattered. But I couldn't make it through a 90-minute band class in woodwind quarters (way too close for comfort) and manage to cover it all with my saxophone. It was an ALTO back then, no less.
My friends, this rememberence is nothing but quiet embarrassment. And yet, somehow, I am not a lost cause in the world of lonely geeks! Remember this as I attend my J.R.R. Tolkien linguistics class tomorrow. Man, those kids.