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My nail tech sees 40 women a week. After 12 years, she finally told me: 'You're my only client who still shaves. Out of everyone.'" I'm 69 years old. And last Wednesday, I found out I've been the only one for twelve years. The only one out of hundreds. Out of thousands. The only one who didn't know. I've been getting monthly pedicures at the same salon since 2012. Same chair. Same nail tech. Tina. And every single month, I apologize. "Sorry about the stubble. I shaved yesterday but you can already see it coming back, can't you?" I've said this 144 times. Once a month. For twelve years. Tina always smiled. "You're fine, honey." And we'd move on. But last Wednesday at 2:15 PM, she didn't smile. She put down the foot file and looked at me. "Can I tell you something? I've been wanting to say this for a long time." My stomach dropped. "Okay." "You're my only client who still shaves their legs." I stared at her. "What?" "Out of everyone I see. And I see maybe forty women a week. You're the only one." I felt my face get hot. "That can't be right." "It is right. You're the only one who apologizes for stubble. The only one with razor burn on your ankles. The only one with healing nicks. Everyone else uses cream." The only one. Out of forty women a week. "Everyone?" I whispered. "Every other client I have. Young ones, old ones, doesn't matter. They all use depilatory cream. I thought you knew. But you keep apologizing. Every month for twelve years. And I finally realized—you don't know you're the only one." I sat there with my feet in the warm water feeling like the floor had disappeared. "How many clients do you have total?" I asked. "Forty a week. So like... 160 a month. About 2,000 a year." "And how long have you been doing this?" "Fifteen years." I did the math in my head. Roughly 30,000 clients. And I was the only one. "Why am I the only one?" I asked. My voice cracked. "You're not the only one with leg hair. You're the only one still shaving. Everyone else switched to cream years ago." "But why didn't anyone tell me?" "They probably thought you knew. It's so common now. Everyone does it. I just assumed you had your reasons for not switching." "I don't have reasons. I just... I didn't know everyone else was doing something different." Tina nodded slowly. "That's why I finally said something. After twelve years of watching you apologize to me while hundreds of other women come in with smooth legs and don't think twice about it... I couldn't stay quiet anymore." Hundreds of other women. All of them comfortable. All of them smooth. All of them not apologizing. And me. The only one. I drove home in a daze. Sat in my driveway for thirty minutes. 40 women a week. 160 a month. 2,000 a year. 30,000 over her career. And I was the only one still shaving. Why was I the only one? That night I couldn't stop thinking about it. All those women. In and out of that salon. Getting pedicures. Smooth legs. No apologies. And me. Month after month. "Sorry about the stubble." At 11:34 PM, I texted my 18-year-old granddaughter Emma. "Emma, do you shave your legs or use something else?" She texted back: "cream lol. everyone uses cream grandma. literally everyone. why" Everyone. I texted back: "Am I the only person you know who still shaves?" "yeah probably lol. my friends would think thats crazy. why are you asking??" I put my phone down. Even my 18-year-old granddaughter thought I was the only one. The next morning, I called my sister. "Do you shave your legs?" I asked. "God, no. I use cream. Have for years. Why?" "Do you know anyone who still shaves?" She was quiet for a moment. "No. I don't think so. Everyone I know uses cream. Why are you asking?" "My nail tech told me I'm her only client who still shaves. Out of thousands of women." "Thousands?" "She's been doing nails for fifteen years. Sees forty women a week. I'm the only one." My sister was quiet. "Oh honey. I thought you knew about cream. We all use it." We all use it. Everyone uses it. Everyone except me. I went to the gym that afternoon. Sat in the locker room after my workout. Watched women change. Maybe twelve women total. Every single one of them had smooth legs. I was in long pants. I drove to the grocery store. Waited in the checkout line. The woman in front of me: shorts. Smooth legs. The woman behind me: capris. Smooth legs. The cashier: skirt. Smooth legs. I looked down at my long pants in 78-degree weather. Was I the only one in this entire store in pants? That evening, I went back to the salon. No appointment. Just walked in. Tina looked up. "Hey, everything okay?" "I need to understand. You said I'm the only one out of forty women a week." "You are." "Is that forty women in general or forty women my age?" "Forty women total. Ages 22 to 85. All ages. All of them use cream." "Even the 85-year-old?" "Even her. She switched years ago. Said it was easier than shaving." I felt tears starting. "So why am I the only one?" "You're not the only one with leg hair. You're the only one who doesn't know there's an easier way." "But everyone else knows." "Everyone else knows." "Even the 22-year-olds." "Especially the 22-year-olds. They've been using cream since high school. They don't even know people still shave." I sat down in the waiting area. Put my head in my hands. 40 women a week knew something I didn't. 160 a month. 2,000 a year. Thousands and thousands of women. All of them smooth. All of them comfortable. All of them not apologizing. And me. Alone. The only one. "What do they use?" I asked. "The cream. What is it?" Tina sat down next to me. "Most of my clients use Snatched. It's made for women our age. Takes eight minutes. You sit down, apply it, wait, wipe it off. Done." "And everyone uses this?" "Everyone I've talked to. It's just... what people do now. Instead of shaving." "Why is it better?" "Think about what you're doing when you shave. You're cutting the hair at the surface with a blade. When it grows back, it has that blunt, sharp edge. That's why you feel stubble the next day." "And cream?" "Cream dissolves the hair below the skin surface. When it grows back, it has its natural tapered tip. Softer. Takes weeks to show up instead of days. That's why all my other clients have smooth legs. They're not fighting stubble every few days." All my other clients. Everyone but me. I ordered Snatched that night. When it arrived, I stared at it for ten minutes before opening it. This was what everyone else had been using. This was why I was the only one apologizing. I applied it. Eight minutes. Wiped it clean. My legs were smoother than they'd been in fifty years. No stubble shadow. No irritation. Just smooth. And I stood there in my bathroom crying. Because I'd been the only one for twelve years. The only one out of 30,000 women. And I didn't even know. Four weeks later: my next pedicure. I walked in. Sat in Tina's chair. She looked at my legs. Smiled. "You did it." "I did it. I'm not the only one anymore." "You're not the only one anymore." At the end, as I was paying, she said: "You know, I've been thinking about what I said. About you being the only one." "Yeah?" "I see forty women a week. That's 2,000 women a year. Over my fifteen-year career, I've probably seen 30,000 different women's legs. And you were the only one still shaving." 30,000 women. And I was the only one. "I'm glad I'm not anymore," I said. She hugged me. "Me too." My daughter called that night. "Emma said you're using cream now?" "I am. Tina finally told me I was her only client who still shaved. Out of thousands." "Oh mom." "Did you know I was the only one?" "I... I thought you knew about cream. Everyone uses it. I just assumed you preferred shaving." "I didn't prefer it. I just didn't know I was the only one still doing it." Twelve years of being the only one. 144 monthly apologies. 30,000 women who knew better. And me. Alone in my method. Not knowing everyone else had moved on. Now I use Snatched every three weeks. Eight minutes. Next month when I go for my pedicure, I won't apologize. Because I'm not the only one anymore. And I finally understand what Tina meant. Out of 30,000 women, I was the only one still shaving. Not because I was special. Not because I was different. Because I didn't know. If you're the only one in your nail salon who apologizes for stubble. If you're the only one out of hundreds who's still doing it the old way. If everyone else knows something you don't. You're not alone anymore. There's a reason you're the only one. It's not because you have to be. It's because you don't know you don't have to be. Everyone else switched. Now you can too.