Like the first sighting of daffodils, the firing-up of the barbecue and the constant temptation of foil-wrapped Lindt bunnies, the arrival of Bare Leg Season is one of spring’s great inevitabilities.
One minute we’re tugging on jeans, blissfully unaware of the state of our shins, toes, knees and thighs. The next, an unseasonably warm day shows up and we’re faced with the cold, hard truth that our legs — after months in hibernation — are far from ready for public consumption.
