I’m sick of shaving my legs. Frankly, I’m tired of removing all errant hairs from my body on a monthly, weekly or sometimes daily basis. It’s exhausting, not to mention expensive. Have you seen the price of razors? How about the cost of a magnifying mirror — you can’t get a good one for under $30. And please don’t get me started on the multiple pairs of tweezers I’m basically forced to keep on me at all times (I recommend at least one pair in the bathroom, purse and car — for those extra sunny days). As I take a step back to examine this month’s theme, au natural, I wonder, what’s it all worth? My mother always said I’m beautiful just the way I am. Most of the men I’ve dated and truly loved never cared how hairy my legs were (bless their hearts — and true intentions). It’s what on the inside that counts, right? Wrong. In the world of dating, we’re taught to believe constant grooming and upkeep of our appearance is critical. Unfortunately, shaving your legs is like Murphy’s Law. Throw on top of that a bikini wax, meticulous tweezing of facial hair, a manicure and pedicure and you’re definitely going home alone. As I venture into the second half of my 20s, I’m learning to strike a balance between what women think is necessary to attract a mate and what I, myself, find sexy. Allow me to cite a recent example. It had been months since my last pre-date grooming routine (tragic, I know) and I realized I had my work cut out for me. While trying to tidy things up, my grooming tools took on a mind of their own. Having now taken far too much “off the top,” nothing would make me look or feel as confident as I would hope going into a date. It was then I realized that feeling good about yourself (hairy, patchy or otherwise) matters far more than what other people find attractive. Let’s worry less about what a potential mate finds attractive and stick to what makes us feel beautiful. Besides, mothers and fathers of single ladies will be happy to know, Murphy’s Law is alive and well. Even on nights that I groom and go out on dates (including the example cited above), I usually end up tucking in alone with Oscar. Longhaired dogs really have a way of putting my stubble into perspective. It could be worse.