This morning I took a long, hot shower (keeping my cling wrap-wrapped arm as dry as possible), hoping to steam out my awful allergy cough (please don't let this turn into something worse). As I let the hot water dart over my body, I prayed and prayed that I would feel better and that I would make it through a very busy weekend.
And then I saw my old, trusty friend, the razor. I was told at the beginning of my cancer adventure I couldn't use a razor because of the danger of cutting myself (what am I, in 7th grade?). Friends, let me just tell you, if you didn't already know, that electric razors do not shave your legs well. At all. I've had stubbly legs since November, except for the time when I lost all hair on my legs. Stubbly hair isn't fun, especially when the weather is getting warmer and you have a wedding tomorrow.
So I defied them. I shaved. Long, delicious strokes, every single hair coming off. Oh boy do my legs feel smooth! Oh there is nothing like it!
It makes up for the stranger who the other day said to me, "Wow! You are brave to cut your hair that short! I would never dare do that!" To which I responded, "It's called chemo" and promptly started crying. She just turned around and walked away. I'll show you, too!