Shaving Wisdom

I managed to cut my thumb on the lubricating strip of my razor this morning. How this happened seems as mysterious now as it did this morning, several hours ago, just after it happened. I shave using a potion, not shaving cream or other sort of preparation available in shops. This potion consists of ingredients like glycerine, chamomile drops, sweet almond oil, jojoba, and other things. It works quite well. How this all started – this shaving my way thing – was I did some research to see if I could locate information on how a chap with sensitive skin might not irritate his skin too much. From this small obsession I learned that razor blades – or at least the disposable blade part of a decent razor – if left in oil last longer as the air doesn’t do it’s corrosive mischief, and it’s the corrosion that chiefly means blades seem to become dull or at least ineffective after about two weeks. So the blade part of my razor rests in olive oil and I easily get over a month out of it. I’m not a stingy individual, but when I think I’ve been a bit clever, finding out something like this, I’ll stick to it, as it reinforces my faith in me. Which is silly, as there are multiple reasons to think I’m just a loser who exhibits odd shaving behaviours, and don’t come anywhere near the cohort of life’s winners. It’s quirky though, and although quirk could be said to be overrated – a substitute for an interesting personality, in fact – it is at least a talking point: something to console oneself with, if one doubts whether the label “interesting” can legitimately be applied to an individual like us.

As I type, my thumb is encased in a Band Aid. That could sound like a serious handicap to serious typers – I wouldn’t dare call me a typist, ever – but my technique is so poor that the brachydactoid[1] digit in question is a mere passenger in the process of striking keys with the tips of the extremities of my hands. No loss. It is obvious when you look at it, but since Laetitia put the plaster on it on the train, travelling to work this morning, the handicap has not been great. If I put my left hand too deeply into the pocket of my RM Williams pants and remove it with too much violence, perhaps the sticky item might rip off on the way out – they’re pretty tight duds, in some ways – but apart from that, nothing. I just had to be careful when washing my hands.

This thing was going to be about how clumsy people can cut themselves on a safety/comfort part of a personal grooming device, and how silly that is, if I can recall exactly why I began this the way I did. But it became about my pants. There you go. An example of an ordered mind at work, sorting and reorganising, making sense and distilling clarity? No. An example of not knowing what the hell your intention was 20 minutes ago, and becoming distracted by shiny objects? Yeah, closer to that one. What does this all mean, and could this possibly – very slightly possibly – be a different, novel kind of interesting than I had even considered earlier when writing about the shaving potion? Or am I just mad? Or stupid? Or cognitively functioning quite well, but just boring, and boring in a new way? Buggered if I’d know.

What I know is you can save money on shaving. It may cause you self-harm, if you go down this track. But there are opportunities there for the stupid, vain, frugal, reasonably intelligent, dull, and brilliant amongst us.

[1] A word Laetita coined. I like it.

Published in: on May 24, 2010 at 7:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

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