Waxing Nostaglic on Some Dead Days

I wish I could go back to the time before I started shaving/waxing/plucking. Of course, that would mean I would have to go back to the dawn of the most awkward period I ever had the horror to live through, complete with abnormal growth spurt, home-permed hair, the onslought of acne (on top of freckles -quite charming), and the birth of the Madonna-in-her-Holiday-Like-A-Virgin-phase copied by awkward teens everywhere. Yes, yes, I bought the mesh hairbands and rubber bracelets. Happy, now? Maybe waxing/shaving/plucking isn't so bad, after all. I just wish you could wax and have it never come back. That's not so much to ask for. And you can even say that without a trace of sarcasm. I just am perplexed by biology. I mean, we're turning ourselves into a species with smaller jaws because we eat more soft and/or cooked foods, so why, after some cultures have spent centuries trying to get hair off their bodies, does the aforementioned body continue to produce? We clothe ourselves quite capably (minus the growing subset of pop star wannabe sheep who beg or bully their moms to buy them sassy little belly shirts and low-rise pants so they can start abusing the power of their feminine wiles good and early), so why does evolution insist on clinging to patches of superfluous hair? You know, the guys having nipples thing is easily explained - all embryos are born female - but I'm stuck on hair. Perhaps I'm just pissed because I hate making appointments with people I pay to hurt me, as I just did this morning. Pain ain't cheap, either. And why do I buy into the whole picture of a hair-free body that advertisers try to sell? It's a racket I enthusiastically participate in. Oy. Did you know: Waxing hurts much much more when you're pregnant - chalk it up to extra-sensitive nerve endings. File that one away, ladies; you'll need it later.