I watch “;The View”; nearly every day and I can relate to Whoopi Goldberg. I missed the day Whoopi lost a bet and the condition was she had to wear a dress every day for a week. Whoopi always looks nice but she never wears a dress because she hates to shave her legs.

I personally don't mind that little feminine chore but it got me to thinking about when it first dawns on us that as girls we have to do certain things that set us apart from boys.

I was a tomboy growing up and my mother would have been delighted if I'd shown an inclination to playing with dolls and dressing up.

In today's terms I would have said to her something like, “;Been there done that, Mom!”; and raced outside to see what new adventure the boys in the neighborhood were up to.

With my dog friend in tow I would go next door, hoping the fellas would include me in their afternoon session of “;playing cars.”; I would sit for hours building roads and bridges, making lakes and laying train tracks. After a while one of the guys would decide it was time for “;boys only,”; and tell me he heard my mother calling me. Filthy dirty, I would trudge home and without a word just head for the bathtub.

  All too soon summer would end and it was back to St. Agnes Catholic Grammar School. Our only field trips would be to walk several blocks to the Church of the Annunciation for a saint's feast day or other special celebration.

That was where my femininity education began. In a furtive conversation in church, Andrea, my third-grade classmate, told me she shaved her legs. I was simply astonished, but I'd always looked on Andrea as sort of “;daring.”; When Sister Alice's back was turned, Andrea told me to feel her leg. It felt silky and smooth, hairless.

The next time I was alone in the bathroom, Dad was at work and Mom was busy in the kitchen, I decided to try shaving my legs. Mom didn't shave anything and my Dad only used straight edge razors.

I locked the door and lathered up a leg just as I had seen my Dad do to his face. I carefully unfolded a razor and stroked it through the lather. I was so careful! I kept doing this until both legs were slick as a baby's bottom.

The next time we were in church I had Andrea run her hand up my leg. Now it was her turn to be astonished.

When it was safe she leaned close to me and whispered: “;Dummy ... you're supposed to shave the backs, too!”;

Looking back now, I realize it was quite a feat for a third-grader to have shaved at least part of her legs with a straight-edge razor and not nick an artery or something!

And best of all, I could still play cars in the dirt with my buddies!