I had to rush a shave yesterday, a facial shave to those suffering from an outrageous bout of curiosity. Anyway while losing my grip on reality in order to get a grip on my razor, I remembered my first shave…
“Dad, they’re scared of you”
“Why? What for?”
My father laughed and told me to have a go, it really isn’t that hard and he then proceeded to demonstrate a serve with as much skill as a federer sliced backhand… it was frightening and I then realized how daunting the task in front of me was.
I stepped into the bathroom after telling my friend “Brb, I’m going to shave too.” Now, I don’t know why I said “too” but I assumed there was someone else shaving on the planet, and so I felt proud to be a part of the club.
Stepping into the bathroom, I surveyed my rather prickly face and took a moment to reflect on teenage facial hair; an artistic abomination if there ever was one. Going through the pre-shave motions of lathering up my face, I took a moment to contemplate.
It seems that fear cannot be banished; however, it can be mitigated by reason and evaluation and that made the task simple enough. Drag the razor in a downwards motion… right… OMG *insert profanities* What am I thinking? it’s a sharp object that is scraping against my skin, which could potentially cut me open… Thank God and my genes that I am not a haemophiliac.
Moving on… I began going through the motions, gently at first and then I realized it’s not that hard… A few minutes and close shaves (no pun intended) later… I washed my face and emerged, a clean shaven man.
Thank you Proctor and Gamble for Gillete. I am forever in your debt. Actually no, I paid you, but anyway, that’s a story for another time.
Peace and Happy Shaving.