So I have been over here shouting about my new found freedom. I wasn't even thinking about my razor or rain forest edition legs. I've just been living the life. But the other part, I wasn't thinking about shaving were my arm pits. I didn't think about them at all...until it was time to do the praise dance for church anniversary.
Church anniversary was awesome. The praise and worship was great, the singing was great, the guests were awesome, I got up and read my little tribute to the mothers of the church, everything was going great. As we made it further down the program, soon it was time for us to do our part. We are a praise dance team of about 10, run by a fascist dictator, named Bridgett. I love her dearly. I really do. We all left out of the church a good bit early to make sure we could all get dressed on time and before it was our turn on program.
Our dance attire consists of black leggings/tights, black tanks, black skirts, and these long lime green tops. As I changed into my clothes, I lifted my arm to put on my shirt. I noticed something, just a glimpse of something fuzzy out of the corner of my eye. Why, I had the hair of fraggle rock growing out of my pits! Now because our shirts are sleeveless and because there are two parts during the song, Shekinah Glory- Say Yes, where I need to hold my arms up for about 30 seconds, this was a problem. A hairy problem.
Oh and did I mention I come up to the front and am on the front row during my part, potentially lifting my arms and scaring everybody half to death. These people were going to be in there distracted from the holy spirit because I was growing the next creature from "Where the wild things are" underneath my arms. There were a lot of people in the church too. A lot of people. There always is during anniversary. I was in a panic.
We all walked into the church and sat on the back row. I'm pretty sure I looked exactly like someone who had just committed a crime. Panicked. Nervous. Looking around crazy. There was still a good bit of time left before we were on program. My mind was racing. What in the world was I going to do? I started thinking maybe a razor was something I needed to start carrying in my kitchen sink bag. I mean, everything else was in there.
I ducked out of the sanctuary and tried to come up with a plan. Then, I got one.
I finally found a pair and they were duller than a butter knife. Lawd. I had to put the scissors all the way under my arms to trim the hair and try not to end up in the ER at the same time. I hid in the bathroom while one of the younger girls was keeping me posted on where we were on the program. I swear it took forever to trim that hair and I had to do both arms. Shoot. Dropped the scissors. Dang. I'm trying to use tissue in the stall to wipe some of the deodorant from underneath my arms to make the scissors cut better. Lord, please don't let me be hairy and stinking. Time is winding down. Then, my little helper said, "It's almost time Miranda." Shoot. I wasn't that far along but I didn't have too much to go either. We stood outside the doors to that sanctuary, I'm still trimming. Someone is praying. Good, a little more time. You know, we like to pray all day. Almost done. Almost done. Done.
I finally finished and we were able to go on and do our praise dance without anyone being slain in the spirit of my armpit forest. Not to mention, that putting on or taking off leggings with hairy legs feels like you're being rapidly electrocuted 684 times over and end up suffering from shock. I guess there won't be an such thing as no-shave November for me.
Okay well my legs... they still look like a forest, but I'm about to fix that...tomorrow.