I'm moving and I need a break

So, I'm a pretty hairy guy.

It's under control, though. I don't have back hair and make sure to pluck those solitary, errant earlobe hairs that crop up every once in awhile. I clip my nose-hairs diligently and shave my full beard every day. Well, somedays I'll skip shaving if I want that rugged, rough-around-the-edges cowboy look—Yee Haw!

I refuse, however, to do anything to my leg hairs.

Even though girls tend to pluck at them in some sort of attempt at tourture, I will never bear shorn legs. Even though, when nagoy, I resemble a Satyr, I will not prune my pez. Even though twice this summer bumble bees have been entangled in the bramble, prompting a flick by my fingers to free them back into the wild, I will not fell my forest.

Bullocks—bullocks, I say!—to anyone who insists that women don't go for hairy men. I insist that if I do encounter troubles it's because I've spilled food all over myself or them, not because I sport leg hair—even if it's sometimes braided, either naturally or artificially through an afternoon of boredom. After all, what woman wouldn't want to feel like they're cuddling up next to a gentle, 5'10'' grizzly bear? Roar!