This fa�ade lasted a whole four years: daily shaving, Band-Aid and Neosporin applications, and lotion rub-downs in the name of razor burn prevention. I was a determined little one!

When I jotted off to college and began the stand-up shaving routine in the community bathrooms, I knew I had to give in and make it a twice-weekly ordeal. I embraced the stubble and accepted that I was clean and at least presentable. Nobody was feeling up on my legs, so I shrugged it off.

Sometime between my middle school days and then, I also managed to develop super-sensitive skin that bitch-bitch-bitched whenever a razor got near. Sensitivity to the intolerable gels, creams, or lotions of any kind was ignored, and I shaved occasionally to rid myself of any social ridicule. However, the occasional hack-job resulted in incurable red bumps and a burn like you wouldn�t believe.

This tenderness has followed me since then, making any shaving that goes on a matter of necessity. Beach volleyball -- Time to shave. Hot date -- Time to shave. I need another blanket to keep me warm in the wicked Chicago winter -- Time to shave.

One day I was browsing eBay and came across epilators being sold. Surely with a little rubbing alcohol for some disinfecting action, I could give this a go...

For those of you unfamiliar with what an epilator is, it�s a shaving-like device that pulls the hair out with its root instead of merely cutting it off like a razor does. It supposedly hurts like the devil spitting into an open flesh wound, but you�re promised up to four hair-free weeks. BINGO!

I searched for the well known Epilady, thinking that was my best bet. They were all going for prices a bit higher than I was expecting, so I looked into other brands. I came across a Remington brand epilator with a low price, and I made my bid.

A couple days later -- SUCCESS! The auction was mine, and I gladly paid more for shipping than I did for the epilator. I patiently tracked my box from Nevada to Chicago, compulsively typing that loooong number into the UPS website. I felt like the lady in the Mervyn�s commercial where she�s tapping on the mall�s front doors, chanting, �Open, open, open...� in anticipation of the big sales inside, only I was tapping my ghetto laptop�s 12-inch screen saying, �Ship it, ship it, ship it...�

This epilator was my key to not shaving, and it was scheduled to arrive that next day. Of course I had an interview that afternoon, thwarting my ability to run downstairs the minute the UPS site told me it was signed for. The interview was painfully long, the HR lady showing me the manufacturing plant, some publications, and other crap that I had no interest in since the key to my hair-free legs was undoubtedly waiting for me in the apartment�s office. (Okay, my impatience was actually because it was a fluffy marketing job and not at all what they advertised... But whatever. Go with my story now.)

When I finally took the PACE bus to the green line to the red line to my stop, I tore the two blocks to my house, snatched my �You have a package!� notice from my mailbox, and anxiously waited for the apartment-managing sloths to get me my awaited box.

The wait for the elevator was excruciatingly slow and the ride was lengthy, but I got myself into my apartment and stripped from the waist down, ready to give my new device a try. I ripped open the box, shredded the protective newspaper wrapping, lifted my new epilator up to the heavens, and gave a glorious shout: �Bless this epilator, my key to shaving freedom! May it swiftly and painlessly remove the hairs from my legs, leaving me available for spontaneous bikini prancing in these warming summer months!�

I removed its power adapter from its casing, only to reveal two oddly large prongs from the power source.

I don�t know if it�s British. I don�t know if it�s Eastern. I don�t know if it�s gah-damned Siberian, but it certainly wasn�t friggin� American and certainly was of no use to me.

[SIDE NOTE: If this is something you could use, I�ll gladly send it to you for the cost of shipping.]

Repeat the story from above about how I waited for my package. I could use the thesaurus for new adjectives, but it would be the same story.

Okay.

So I held the epilator up and summoned the depilatory angels for their blessings, and proceeded with the yank-and-pull that would be. I ran the device over my fur (yes, that�s what it was at this point), and felt the sting of the pulls. I closed my eyes and envisioned munchkins doing cartwheels over rainbows as chubby-cheeked kids ate rice cream while sitting on patches of fluffy clouds.

I ran the torture device over my entire shin several times, and then stopped to view my progress. Not so much as a patch of hairlessness was noticed.

I tried again, pulling the skin taut as directed by the manual. No such luck.

I really gave it a go this time, returning to the land of midget gymnasts and dairy-free kids. I felt more hair removal rips as I went higher up my leg. All was removing well as I started moving the torture device in circular pattern. Suddenly, �Ow, ow, ow, ow.�

Must. Move. Through. The. Pain.

And when I could stand it no more, I looked at my upper-inner thigh for the course of this increase in pain, only to find that the Epilady�s rotating coil apparently grabbed some skin and rubbed/burned a hole right through my body�s casing.

This damage made walking especially uncomfortable whenever my thighs rubbed together. And since that�s ALWAYS unless I walk with my toes pointed outward and my legs spread widely, I was in a lot of continuous pain for a few days.

I brought myself to Walgreen�s a few days later and purchased some ultra-sensitive skin shave gel, triple-bladed razors with the moisture strip, and a lollipop to ease my shaving woes. I lathered, followed a friend�s shaving suggestions (taken from the pages of PlayBoy, no doubt), and kept this up for a few weeks.

One day I looked down and noticed that the hair had grown long once again. If I was going to use an epilator or pay for someone to wax me (I know better than to wax myself), now was the time to do it. I logged back onto eBay and ordered a brand-new top-of-the-line epilator, assuming that I could sell the damn thing if it ended up my legs were defective instead of the devices. I placed my order, made my PayPal payment, and checked UPS religiously.

Anticipation, anticipation, anticipation all week long...

Figuring that Jesus doesn�t quite love me after the previous two blessings requested were failures, I skipped the prayer and went straight to the bathroom. I plugged my machine in and turned it on. I knew I couldn�t revisit the dwarfs and imagine non-diary Dreamsicle Popsicles because of potential skin damage and days of hobbling, so I bravely held the device to my shin and moved slowly upward.

No cussing. No flinching. No teeth gritting. Just slight pulls here and there that -- to my utter shock and amusement -- removed 98% percent of the hair!

It took nearly an hour to go through the entirety of my two legs, but all is well. I showered off the plucked hairs and applied lotion to my legs for the first time in years.

I�m amazed. I�m awestruck. I�m happy. I�m fascinated.

But most of all, I�m finally hair-free.�