For sometime I have been the possessor of a little device called an epilady. For those unfamilar with feminine stuff, this is a hand size, battery operated gizmo that has a rotary action bit that rips the hair right out of your legs. Yes, this does hurt. A lot. Of course, the more you do it, the less it hurts.
It should also be fairly obvious that it is not in my nature to do more than essential. And frankly, smooth legs is a luxury in my books, not a necessity. Anyway, after realising that I could rent my legs out to sand back antique furniture, I decided to re-assess my priorities and so the hair-ripper-outer was pressed into service. As my closest friend from my teenage years, Morrissey, once said "the pain was enough to make a shy, bald buddist reflect and plan a mass murder". Seriously, it felt like leaning up against a particularly malevolent electric fence.
My only conclusion is that one should only do this after a few stiff, bracing vodkas (around six should suffice). Of course you need to find the right balance - too few vodkas and it hurts too much, too many vodkas and you can't even see the leg you are trying to do.