My youngest daughter came home from school a few weeks ago, in tears, saying that a girl said that she had hairy legs. My daughter is eight pushing nine. I don't think that the razor is a good solution. So, after much pleading, and begging, I brought out my dusty leg hair exfoliating machine. It is like a small orbital sander that obliterates leg hair in minutes. . . I figured it was the lesser of a few evils, stinky creams, foams, razors, waxing, whatever. It worked too. No pain, no crying, and a kid who felt much better about her self image. My problem with the scenario is that, again, why do kids have to start worrying about these things at such a young age? I realize, my daughter was not blessed with smooth legs, but at eight years old, girls should not be that concerned about body image. I may have fed into the ideal, but as a mother you are torn. Personally, I do not want my daughter to endure years of teasing because she has extra strong fibrous fortified follicles. I myself have been there and done that, that so I felt a lot of empathy when my daughter pleaded for a solution. I have always hoped that home grown cross hatched hair pants would come into style, but alas, it hasn't happened yet. I went to the basement (okay, it was more like "jumped" to the ladder to the basement) and had to find some caulk. I was on a caulk mission, and no one could stop me from attaining the tube of gooey goodness. That's when I heard the sound. I don't exactly know what the sound was, but any sound in the basement is not a good one. Especially MY basement. I am referring to the second basement that I haven't been down in for over two and a half years. No one has been down there. Since my husband decided to "renovate", all my antiques are in the back of the house and on top of the other basement access. I can see through the foundation to this basement from my other basement. I heard noises in the second basement. So what was a girl with caulk in hand to do. Just run. I ran up the ladder and jumped to the floor of the main house with gusto. The damn pug and the other dogs were at the door to the main floor pawing and clawing at me, and then I almost lost my footing and dropped the damn caulk. I made a quick save, and then pondered, drinking to calm my nerves (it works in the movies). Nah, but if I had some brandy in the house, it might have been a nice end to a dramatic moment. Shite. . .does it ever end? Really. Everyday a drama of sorts. If it's not something leaking, squeaking, reeking or creaking. . .