there was that one moment when i probably emasculated my pre-pubescent son. he had spent the previous two weeks counting his armpit hairs that were sprouting one by one. one day, he could see a patch of dirty blonde fuzz (or just the shadow caused by the bathroom overhead light) in the valley of his pit. he came running in to the living room where i was curled up in the deep concentration that i can only summon when reading a book about herbs or self-sufficiency or surfing or the suicide girls.
"mom, have you ever seen so much armpit hair?!" he almost sang.
i didn't say a word nor did i look up from my book. i just lifted my arm. i could almost feel the weight of his face as it fell about five inches.
i don't always look like i have don king in a head lock. but, i sometimes do. of course, there was that one hippie year when i easily could have braided it all, slapped some beads on, and at least i could have had bo derek's iconic hair...but, you know, under my arms. the flowing pit-locks look is more of a winter-time thing for me.
i do have my reasons that reach further than my feminist leanings coupled with my ironic life-long struggle to "be one of the boys". (when i was seven, i pulled my sister and the two boys that we grew up with into the bathroom and proved that i really could pee while standing up.) i don't feel the need to bow to some societal standard of beauty that is counter to what my body does naturally nor do i understand why that standard only applies to one gender. however, i think it's healthier to let my body do what it wants to do from time to time.
and, to top it off, the armpits are an erogenous zone but a little fuzz increases the sensation by a factor of ten. anything that increases my pleasure on this planet is fine with me.