Space Between-A Leg hair Story

The little girl stairs at my calves. nose scrunched deep in concentration. "You have really hairy legs" she says, looking up at me. "They are hairy!" I reply. Her mother gasps and clutches at her kid sputtering "Constantina leave the poor woman alone!" I am suddenly confused. Poor woman? As the woman and her kid shuffle away I hear the woman say "You saw her cane, well she doesn't shave her legs like a young woman because she can't bend over" I am now assured that the poor woman to whom she refers is me. I identify as a queer, non binary, gender androgenous lady ewok. I am also disabled, occasionally use a cane, and do have trouble leaning over. However the state of hair on my carcass has less to do with ability and more to do with sensory. I had my pits lasered and still shave them everytime I shower because deoderant goes on easier. I shave my genital area because its easier for me to keep clean, and means no hair gets stuck in my boxers. I pluck my strange hairs on my face because other wise I pick at them. I used to shave my legs because I grew up surrounded by hyper feminine women who waxed, plucked, shaved, and epilated every stray hair not attatched to their scalp or framing their eyes. I grew up certain of few things. Always wash your hair everyday, and always have smooth legs. Now at forty some years old I realize that my hair did not required daily shampoo, nor do my legs, silky smooth shins to be comfortable in my own skin. I remember the day I stopped shaving my legs. I had fallen in the shower for the 3rd time in 2 months and was wary. I lifted my razor to shave my shins and thought "Who are you doing this for?" I hated shaving my legs. I hated cuts, I hated buying razors, I hated the dry skin, and mostly I hated that by 9pm my legs would be stubby and sharp. So I decided I wasnt going to shave them anymore. The first month was uneventful. I had no reason to bare my legs in winter so I didn't even think about it much. Then I had cause to go to a Burlesque show and found a pretty wrap dress at a thrift store. I happily put it on and while walking to my ride could feel a swish around my calves. I knew instantly it was the hair on my legs lifting and blowing in the cold winter air. Instead of feeling unsettled, it made me feel oddly serene. Like I had gained some secret spidey sense in my hairy calves. I have since rocked several pairs of shorts, dresses, and skirts. I have stopped appologizing to the massage therapist or lady who does my pedicures. I happily rock my hairy legs without a second thought. As my friend says "If they are too busy looking at your hairy calves, you arnt doing it right." I still get people concerned about my husbands feelings about my legs, I point out I am OK with his hairiness, and he is a smart person who enjoys his partner being in a good mood. I get people offering to shave my legs because they think I just physically can't, and I get asked if I am a lesbian or a super feminist. One person even asked me if I was transgender or butch or were those things the same? So I bear the brunt of kids staring, people staring (not many) and strange assumptions. But I manage to moisturize, exfoliate, and let my leg hair grow, or not grow, comfortable in the knowledge that there is a space between yeti and electric eel where my body is right at home.