Jesus doesn’t want me to shave my legs. And I hope there’s “Sex and the City” in hell.
A gal can curl up alone with her cats on the couch after work late at night watching the collector’s edition box set of “Sex and the City” while eating dark chocolate morsels by the fistful and not shaving her legs for only so long.
And by “so long,” I mean “about 40 hours.” Because with 94 episodes, most at 25 minutes a pop, that’s how long the box set is. Not including DVD extras and deleted scenes.
After rewatching the always-amusing antics of Carrie Bradshaw, Samantha Jones, Miranda Hobbes and Charlotte York for the hundredteenth time, I wish I could regale you with my own tales of high-society hobnobbing. Or downtown debauchery. Or really anything that doesn’t involve a 3 a.m. run to the 24-hour CVS on the corner for my favorite Aveeno therapeutic shave gel made with oatmeal for sensitive skin because I can’t stand the sight of my shaggy legs for one second longer, only to discover that they’ve stopped selling it, which is kind of like a sign from God that I definitely never should shave my legs again. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Or maybe it’s only a sign from God if, while shaving my legs, I nick my knee and the blood slinks down my calf, so I wipe it away and then on a folded piece of toilet paper the crimson spreads slowly into a Rorschach-esque shape of the Trinity. Except I don’t really know or understand what the Trinity is, let alone what it looks like, because I was raised Jewish, so if God, who should totally know better – because, hello, he knows everything, even that now I’m a non-believer (Sorry, God) – wants to tell me something, like, say, not to shave my legs, he should just come right out and say it, or use some symbolism that I can comprehend. Like the Star of David. Or a dreidel. Or the face of Steven Spielberg. Because otherwise, I’d be all over Wikipedia, where I’d learn that, “The Christian doctrine of the Trinity teaches the unity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit as three persons in one Godhead.” And I don’t know what the fuck a “Godhead” is, but Jesus had a scraggly beard, so I think he’d probably be OK with my not shaving my legs. Jesus also wouldn’t judge me because I viewed all 40 hours of “Sex and the City” over the course of two weeks. Because he’s forgiving. Or was Jesus the accepting one, and it’s the Father who’s forgiving? Christianity is confusing. I probably should ask a priest or something. I’ve got *a lot* of questions. For starters: Who is the Mr. Big, Aiden Shaw and Aleksandr Petrovsky in the Trinity? And does Mary of Nazareth end up with her Mr. Big in the end, or does she have to wait to nail him down for the movie? (And maybe “nail him down” isn’t the most sensitive of phrases to use here. Sorry again, God.) But not the second movie. Because, major meh. Although if Mary does finally snare Mr. Big in the sequel, maybe that’s why it took place in Abu Dhabi, where Muslim women cover up head-to-ankle in burqas, and Allah only knows what sort of leg-stubble overgrowth is happening under there. Here’s my best guess: If no one’s seeing it, no one’s shaving it. That’s always been my philosophy.
Vaguely related: This is why I never read “The Da Vinci Code.”