Every day, these words blaze in my mind: 

The lights are on;
The music is over; 
The audience has all exited..

I sit on the edge of the bathtub.
The bathtub is cold.
I stare at my legs;
At the long, fair fuzz;
At the short black stubble. 
I think of giving it all up; for I have lost the urge to epilate.

He is not worth the pain the halawa (the wax).
He is no longer worth the cuts from shaving.
He is no longer worth the moments wasted in waiting for the bleach cream to work.

This did not happen suddenly.
It started off by my ignoring the fuzz on my thighs, then my forearms, my underarms, my pubis, until finally, today, I am about ready to ignore the hair on my legs.

At first I used to hide the hair under long sleeves and long skirts during the day; and within the folds of darkness at night.
And now, I feel he is no longer worth the effort of hiding the hair at all.

I know that it doesn’t bother him; for he doesn’t touch my legs. He doesn’t look at them when I cross my legs. He doesn’t look at my thighs, my arms, my underarms … He doesn’t see me.

And as I sat there on the edge of the bathtub, staring at my legs, the long fair fuzz, the short black stubble; and as I thought of giving it all up; he called me from afar: Aren’t you ready yet?

My femininity defeats my depression, still, but I don’t know for how long!
I grab the razor.

Fadwa