Know What I Hate?

Know what I hate?

I hate it when you get a zit on your face that is so big (how big is it?) that you sincerely feel concerned that you might be growing a second head.

I hate that, but that’s not what I am talking about here.

I hate it when that self aware head sized zit comes in a day after you hit your “damn, I gotta shave” point. The zit is protected by a barrier of face fur and the idea of shaving it brings to mind gallons of blood spilled into your bathroom sink.

I hate that, but that’s not what I am talking about here.

I hate it when you still shave, despite the new brain growing on your neck and you think you did a good job shaving round the no-fly zone but a half hour later you feel an itch and realize that you missed a circle around the zit that has a radius of about half an inch and now you feel like you must look like some sort of mutant and have to go back to the bathroom and carefully dry shave around the zit in order to make yourself feel more human.

I hate that.

At least it’s Friday.

Bloody Nostalgia

How’s that for a provocative title?

Get ready to be let down.

It’s funny what stays with you.

I had acne when I was in high school so out of fear of cutting my face to ribbons I bought an electric razor. I did know how to shave for real though. My father taught me how. I don’t remember anything he said to me that day, but I clearly remember that my Uncle Johnny (Dad’s brother) was there and he made one shaving suggestion. He said to be careful when you shave above your lip because if you cut yourself right under your nose you will bleed like crazy and it just won’t stop.

Like I said, I don’t know why I remember that comment from my uncle so clearly, but guess what I thought of this morning while shaving… just as I cut myself under my nose.

Gore, babie. Uncle Johnny called it.