Posted tagged ‘Bic razors’

Midlife crisis #1: Taking it on the chin

August 30, 2015

Midlife is, of course, a bit of a misnomer in this context. I am indubitably young and nowhere near the quarter never mind middle of any crisis. Nonetheless, the story must go on.

As a smooth skinned operator I have always used the electric razor when shaving. I like them that much that I buy electric razors. The buzz of the foil as it traverses the topography of my dish is comforting. The electric blade ploughs through the grassy cheeks with the skill of a farmyard labourer. It leaves the landscape barren yet beautiful. And the implement is easy to clean afterwards. It is one of the wonders of the world.

Yet I wanted to venture close to the bone. Most men use shaving cream and blades for facial grooming. My father used this method, sometimes twice a day if he was going out at night, all his life. He used to rasp away at his chin with his Wilkinson sword making washboard instrument noises. I used to look at his blue jaw before and after the concert. There was no significant difference to my mind. I vowed, when it was my time for the shaving rite of passage, to do a Bob Dylan and go electric. But that was then…

For a little bit of variety in my life or was it a crisis I attempted my first non-electric shave or, as they call it, the conventional shave. The maestro was ready for the show.

I lathered on the cream until I resembled Granpaw Broon. So far, so good. I moved onto phase two. Taking the bic out of its cellophane cage, it gleamed off the bathroom’s tiles. I ran the blade down the side burns area. This snowball roll had turned my Bic razor into a candy floss. Resisting the urge to bite into the sweet delicacy I evaporated the cotton into the sink and prepared for stroke two. This was an upward blow from the jugular vein to the knock out part of the jaw. I was disappointed not to hear the sanding sounds that my father produced. Maybe this sort of thing skips a generation. I rinsed out the avalanche of foam. The water in the sink was now a dual coloured white and red. Red!

I nearly jumped into the mirror as I scanned the slaughter. Face to face with my opposite self I noticed red marks on my throat. My smooth skin, now shredded, was bleeding. AIEEEEE. I yelled for help.  Call an ambulance, MrsW. Quick. Quick. You’re hysterical, she said. And then she slapped me out of my hysterics and my slippers. It’s just a flesh wound, she said. She plunged my head in the sink to wash off the lather. I searched for apples but there were none. Pulling me out by the hair just before I drowned she dried my dish then stuck plasters on the scars.

I’m still healing. Still contemplating the crisis.

Bob Dylan has made an appearance again as I sing a farewell to the conventional shave.

Mama, take this Bic off of me, I can’t use it anymore.

Bic is a King Cobra

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