Mr Accident will be home soon...*cue mad scramble into the shower and the application of numerous blades and creams to mimic neck down alopecia*
But during the extensive hours it took to render me hairless, I got to thinking. What message am I sending to my daughters by primping for their Daddy? And specifically, my scorched-earth hair removal policy?
By letting them see me prune, am I saying that in order to be considered beautiful (or even socially acceptable) they need to change their appearance and forcibly remove something that grows naturally and unavoidably from their sweet, chubby little bodies? Or worse, that they need to be hairless to keep a man happy (and by extension, that he would somehow be justified finding a "better" model if they don't keep up the maintenance)?
And what if I don't let them watch? Then am I encouraging the idea that everyone is effortlessly hairless except them? That they are somehow abnormal, even compared to their mum?
Should I stop altogether, and submit poor Mr Accident's delicate sensibilities to a whiskery onslaught?
But there has to be a balance. I don't want my girls to be socially outcast for choosing to keep their hair, but I don't want them to feel pressured to remove it, or consider themselves less than perfect if they don't. But in our looks obsessed culture, where society feeds on a steady diet of hairless, airbrushed models and we hold each other and ourselves to generally unattainable physical standards, what am I supposed to tell them?
I do have a plan, however.
I will teach them to be wise, so that they can choose their own path. I will teach them to be witty, so they can defend their choices. And I will teach them to be wonderful, so whatever they choose to do in their lives has true weight and depth, enough that their mother's daft concern about their responses to a razor becomes a trivial issue.