I remember the first time I heard a comment about my body hair behind my back, “Hairy Mary! Hairy Mary!” I was about nine or ten. It was, of course, a group of boys at school. It was one of those insults that wedges itself somewhere in your mind and informs who you become later on. For all the times I’ve received a compliment for my thick, lustrous locks or my long lashes and full brows, I can recall just as many times when I had to hide my hairy hands from a stranger on the tube to avoid seeing the disgust in their eyes.
My mum had her first wax when she was twelve, but she knew I couldn’t wait...
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