A very close shave
Posted by John Gustafson at 12:01 on 25 Sep 2007
Yesterday morning was not a good one. From the moment the alarm clock went off I had the feeling that pulling the covers over my head and chasing after sleep might be the only way I could get through the day. I should have listened to that little voice in my head – as is so often the case. But as is also often the case, I decided to ignore the voice and
venture out of the womb of my blankets. Mistake number one.
I fell down half of the stairs but eventually made it into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. With a cup of coffee safely in hand, I looked forward to a hot shower and the feeling of caffeine coursing through my veins. Before the shower, I needed to do my regular Tuesday and Friday morning shave and haircut. Since I have become increasingly follically challenged (something that doesn’t bother me in the slightest), I have decided I look best with my facial fuzz and hair the same length. I do a zero-crop twice a week and it stays neat and tidy. I have not touched a razor to my face in three years and my skin had thrived without the daily ritual of abuse. But last Friday I took a day off of work so I skipped that part of my grooming– I looked a bit like an escaped and crazed convict. I grabbed the re-chargeable trimmer and set to my topiary duties. I got my face done in fine form and then began my dome. I got three stripes shaved away and heard the dreadful sound of the blades dying. The power was not only winding down: it had wound…past tense. I found myself standing in front of the mirror with designer stubble and a head that looked like a doll attacked by a little girl with her daddy’s razor. Since I moved three weeks ago I have not been able to find about four things – one of them is coincidentally the cord for the trimmer. Swell. Luckily I knew where the re-chargeable hair clipper was and raced to get that before I was running too late. Back to the bathroom I went and flicked the switch. You know what is coming, don’t you? No power. Not even the buzz of a lazy bee. Dead as a doornail. Mistakes number two and three.
It was so not a good look. There was no way in the world I could possibly go to work like this. I cast my mind over my new route to work and tried to remember if there was a barber that I passed. Not sure. And since I have not shaved for three years, I have had no need to keep a razor in the house. I thought there might be an old Bic disposable in my travel kit and crossed my fingers. Yes! There it was. And I also found a lady’s Venus that I use to get rid of the four hairs that sprout around my nipples. Great. Two possible solutions. Being that I do development for King Of Shaves, you would think that I would have tons of shaving products. I fact, I DO have tons of shaving products. Small issue though…they are all still in storage until this weekend.
What to do? What to do? I got into the bath instead of the shower and soaked my head to soften the hair. Then in the absence of any real shaving products, I lathered my head with the soapiest bar of soap I could find. I gritted my teeth and scraped the blade over my head the first time. It felt and sounded like Velcro. I looked down and saw not one single hair had been cut off. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Nothing. That blade must have been duller than an evening with your old Aunt Bertha. Next up was the Venus. This one removed some hair, but after going over the same place about twenty times, I knew it looked like someone had been chewing my hair off. Rubbing my hand over my head felt like a combination of steel wool and the mat I wipe my feet on as I come in the front door! This was going horribly wrong and I should be leaving the house in ten minutes.
I pulled on a pair of sweats and jogged (unbelievable I know, and mistake number four) to the little chemist a few blocks away. I purchased a can of real shave foam and a pack of my ex-favourite blades: Gillette Sensor Excel. I sort of jog/walked back home (I couldn’t breath from the exertion of running up there in the first place) and was naked before hitting the bathroom. I lathered up my head and with clenched teeth ran the blade over my head. Almost comfortable! I set to creating a pattern of vertical and horizontal strips circumnavigating my scalp so as not to miss any tufts out. 10 minutes later I was a smooth and shiny as a newborn. And I remembered how much I liked having a complete skinhead about 8 years ago. So I decided to make my face match. Mistake 5.
Finished, I found a serum for hypersensitive skin in the medicine cabinet and used half of it on my head and followed with all of my facial skincare. I took a deep breath and surveyed the damage. Actually? I looked pretty darned good. Chiselled and polished. The day might be looking up. I was going to be late, but I knew I would still be in before I had any clients arriving. I dressed and ditched.
All day long I stroked my head. And therein lay the final mistake. By the end of the day I remembered that there was a reason that I stopped shaving my head. It gets sore. You eventually build up a resistance to the abrasion as the scalp toughens, but I have been cropping for three years and I was not ready for the new stubble to grow through and the irritation that was going to be a constant companion for the next few days. And adding insult to injury, I woke up this morning to a face with about 8 tiny spots. All in the area not used to being molested with sharp bits of metal. So out comes the anti-bacterial acne cream and blemish treatment. I will lay my head on my pillow this evening and hope that tomorrow I wake up with the problem sorted. Or barring that – I will listen out for that little voice and pay it a little more attention. Perhaps I should intensify the hunt for the cord so I don’t have to repeat this escapade on Friday…
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