Why shave two legs when you really only need to shave one?

Being the cripple that I am, I’m back at physio. This time for my ankle. I managed to get a last minute appointment last week and raced over there, sat on the table, rolled up my pant leg for easy access only to realize… I hadn’t shaved my goddamn legs in like a month.

Naturally, my physio isn’t one of those fancy places with private rooms. Oh no, we’re all together in one big open area, sitting on our tables, chatting away while intermittently being tortured. Which means my hairy frakking leg was on display for EVERYONE. Made ten times better when the physio or her assistant were working on it and had to feel that hairy goodness. They’re awesome people though so they never said a word. Nevertheless, at the end of my two hour torture session I was resolved to not let that situation arise again.

Fast forward to yesterday when it all went wrong.

I had planned on getting up a little earlier so I could shave my legs in preparation for my follow up physio appointment. For most people that would involve setting an earlier alarm. Not me. For me it meant not hitting the snooze button four times. That’s all well and good except for the fact that I slept through my alarm. BY AN HOUR! WTF?! So, in the interest of expediency (not to mention general apathy), I only shaved the leg with the bum ankle and even that was only to mid-calf.  I figured that’s all the physio would see/be touching anyways and no one else would ever know.

All went well at the physio. No one had any idea I only shaved half of one leg. WIN!

Enter the constant variable in my life: My horse, the Carbon Monster

I get home after physio and decide to take Carbo’s blanket off because it’s all sunny and warm and I know he’d prefer to be nekkid rather than have a heavy winter blanket on. Plus, I don’t want the bastard to take it off himself and rip it to shreds. You think I’m exaggerating but I’m not. There was a time where I had to buy a new winter blanket every freaking year because I didn’t get it off him fast enough. Those things are expensive dammit!

I get his blanket off and spend a few minutes currying away his winter coat with my fingers. La la la. All is well. Yay happy pony!

Then I notice it.

He’s bleeding from four spots: His knees, one hock and his nose. The bastard fell again.

At this point I had no choice but to haul him inside and clean him up which, of course, involves a hose, a dirty wash stall, various chemicals and me rolling my pants up so they don’t get drenched and/or excessively dirty. Revealing to all my one hairy leg.


Hide your children. Sequester your nuns. Grab your pitchforks (readily abundant at a barn). By the looks of that leg that chick is half ogre!

hairy leg

Now, I’m not saying that Carbo definitely, 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt on purpose fell and forced me to show everyone my somewhat questionable personal “beauty” standards. But I will say that the horse is an evil genius who will use any tool at his disposal to get what he wants. Primarily revenge. For stuff like this:

Carbo scarf


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