This recount will probably not win me a single friend. However, I shall proceed anyway, in the most delicate way possible. This memory needs purged guys, I cannot carry its burden alone. Also, don’t make this about you because it’s not.
So the scene is a local convenience store, early morning. Dawn’s third light if you will. Normally I don’t like participating in society before the sun has reached its midday peak but that’s what I gotta do sometimes.
A girl cashier, looked to be in her early 20s, is manning the checkout aisle. Hippie critter with long blonde dreadlocks down her back. No problem, I can deal with this. Of course I have nothing against tie-dye, but I just don’t like it for myself.
Now then, this free spirit was chipper and scanned my purchases in a timely and conversational manner. Good, good, good.
And then unexpectedly, without announcement or provocation… you know that cube of space where stores keep their plastic bags to fill with your items? The cashier lifted her right leg and rested her foot in that spot. A cowboy stance if you will.
I absentmindedly looked down at this weird instance of leisure between employee and customer. Mostly I try to keep my eyes to myself but this leg maneuver was out of the ordinary. Definitely not par for the course.
She was wearing a white tennis shoe and black yoga pants, fitted just below the knee. And then. I realized. She had chosen not to shave that very lifted leg.
Guys, now hold up. I don’t have anything against women’s lib or militant feminism. Or even peaceful feminism. I resist social norms and quietly protest beauty standards in both men and women alike.
But I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that leg lift. Obviously, the picture is a photographic recreation and not the actual checkout aisle. Nor is the cowboy boot to scale. It’s simply a rendered reconstruction for the readers.
Anyway, was she looking for feedback perhaps? Possibly a nonchalant complement? Is that just how kids do these days?
Maybe she was simply okay enough with her womanhood that leg, shaved or unshaved, conventional or subculture, wasn’t an issue. A confidence strong enough that one simply forgets what body service has been done and not done.
Again, I must insist that I’m not anti-razor. This whole encounter was simply unusual. I felt like I’d just opened an x-file.
So then I did what I do best in most social situations. I refused to make eye contact and quietly recited the first few lines of the 1979 masterpiece, Cars.
Here in my car I feel safest of all. I can lock all my doors. It’s the only way to live.
And then grabbed my receipt and supplies, double-timed to the sliding double-doors, and vowed never again to look down. In any public place. Under any circumstances.
So where exactly, precisely did this unrestricted showing of minimal furry take place? I will leave that piece untold. Perhaps you, too, will spot this elusive creature during your own travels.
And long live the minimoog. “It will keep me stable for days.”
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