Toehair

I sit down on the floor of the bathroom, and bend my leg upwards far enough so I can look at the big toe on my right foot as closely as possible. There are about 5 to 7 thick black hairs on it, roughly a centimetre in length, and several thinner, shorter ones. The nail is a little rough around the edges. The upper bit is partly covered in purple nail varnish, the lower half is a yellowy white. I take a good five minutes to stare at it. If the toe belonged to someone else, I might be mildly disgusted by it, and I still am on a certain level, but I love to stare at it. I reach for the razor, and carefully remove the hairs. Then I do the same to my other foot. I bend over in all kinds of positions, in order to shave every part of my body. The three dark hairs below my bellybutton fill me with anger. When I’ve finished shaving, I take a good look in the big mirror on my wall. I’m quite content about the hairlessness, but the pasty white flesh of my thighs and belly not so much. I grab a bottle of self-tan and rub some on the upper bit of my left thigh, then down to my knee, and then I do the same thing for my other leg. After a few minutes, both my legs have an orangey glow about them. It’s not really an improvement.

I put on a pair of knickers that is a size too small. The flesh of my hips spills over the top, the soft pink stretch marks standing out against the blue-y white of the rest of my body. As a sort of challenge, I wonder if I can make myself look anymore disgusting. Luckily I find an old pair of skin-coloured tights. I pull them up all the way to the smallest part of my waist. I laugh because it’s ironic that I would call anything about my body ‘small’. The tights pull my belly in, squishing the flesh underneath the beige fabric. Knickers and tights without a bra is really the most ridiculous and revolting outfit there is. When I bend over the underside of my boobs touches the upper part of the tights, it tickles in an unpleasant way. I get into bed, but not before changing into pyjama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt. I don’t want my revolting body to touch the sheets, as I’ve only just changed them yesterday.

I wake up to see the sunshine pouring into my bedroom from between the curtains. I avoid the mirror when I go to the bathroom to have a wash, and quickly dry myself without looking at my body. I put on a pair of black tights and my most flattering deep green velvet dress. I struggle to get the zipper up, but it gets there. Feeling brave, I decide to have a peak in the mirror. I pull several ridiculous poses; my hands on my hips, bent forwards with my hands on my knees, one leg pulled up. I like what I see. I go heavy black eyeliner and put my hair up in a messy bun. I look in the mirror again. My clothes and my make-up is what defines me, not my body. It is going to be a good day, I decide as I slip my feet into a pair of purple platform shoes.