It was an innocent question. My daughter had no idea of the weight behind the words she was asking so she asked them anyway...
"Mummy, when I am old like you, will I have so much hair?"
It is important to set the scene here, this conversation took place at 6:45 am, and I had not long since detached the toddler from my bosom and staggered from bed to shower.
The actual words fell out of my daughter's mouth as I was stepping out of the shower; one leg hanging midway in the air, my arm outstretched reaching for a towel, fully exposing both bikini line and armpit. My recently cut head hair hung wet behind my ears and following my daughter's eye line there could be no doubt to what she was referring.
It has been a while since I have trimmed.....
Since the summer basically turned its back on Britain and buggered off to taunt the rest of the world, plucking and tweezing have fallen behind on my to do list. More important activities like ordering next term's uniform, despairing at the rising cost of children's shoes, making sodding homemade thank you cards for the teachers who get six weeks paid annual leave - leaving me to shell out a lottery win on childcare - have taken up the majority of my time.
The razor sits dusty and blunt on the bathroom shelf and because of that it seems my daughter has fostered a growing concern that one day she will wake up and look just like her Big Foot styled mummy.
But in my defence, has there ever been such a thankless task?
I can spend hours creatively designing my lady garden and then twenty four hours later I have to live with the itchy sensation of crotch stubble working its way around my inner thighs. It is apparently inappropriate to scratch yourself ‘down there' whilst singing "Row, row, row your boat" at the local nursery rhyme session, so I have to wait until the Grand Old Duke of York kicks in and I can sort myself out when we are down we are down.
Eyebrow tweezing: in my twenties, this was something I would do quickly before going out, pull out the odd stray hair and away I went. Now, I could make a craft design show out of plucking my unibrow. I start at the chin and basically work up, with each year I age my face rewards me by adding an extra thick black hair that can grow miraculous by half an inch over night. By the time I have finished perfecting my perfect brow line it is time to return to my chin and start the process again.
Legs: currently resembling an Amazonian rain forest, owing to recent weight gain, I also have more ground to cover when applying the blade. It's raining outside why would I waste valuable G and T time removing something no one else is going to see. This is as impractical as cleaning under the fridge, if someone wants to yank out my cooling cabinet then they deserve to see the horror that lies beneath; same goes if you lift up the hem of my jeans.
Plus smooth legs often send out the message my other half is on a promise and since I closed the last chapter of 50 Shades of Grey I have not much been in the mood anymore.
However, not sure that this is an appropriate answer to a six year old's question? So again I grabbed the towel, shielded my furry body from view and lied through my teeth like every good parent.
"Of course not honey; you will stay lovely and smooth."
"Oh good" she replied "because those ones on your neck are horrible."