Shaving Grace
By Daniel Warby
No one ever needed to teach me how to shave. It seemed pretty self-explanatory to me. Through my 33 years of life, it’s become second nature.
I usually keep some kind of facial hair that has included mustaches, beards and goatees. In prison I’ve even learned to shave by feel and not by sight, because of my days in solitary confinement.
Before intimate encounters I shave everything below the belt as well, trying to make myself as picture perfect as I can before either taking the lovely lady to pound town or sending her the infamous dick pic.
On one of these occasions that were intimate in nature, I barely saved my little friend from near capitation. Why I was carefully and thoughtfully taking this scraggly beard from my small but would be loved friend, my phone on the sink nearby decides to ring. I know to you that probably does not sound like a drastic situation. But when your phone’s volume is turned all the way up in an echoing small space and the ringtone just happens to be one of those emergency “the reactor is melting down” type of sirens and your phone starts screaming “WARNING! Your mother is calling” your heart can skip a few beats! And when your heart skips that many beats during that millisecond time frame, your hands will jerk of their own accord.
I did in fact drop the nearly doll razor, and by the Grace of God, instead of slicing open my marble bag, dragging the blade across my main vein or accidentally performing a DIY at home sex change operation, I caught it.
My advice to the reader is to silence all potentially hazard electronics when you have a razor blade so close to death and destruction. The fact that I have all my members intact after that experience is my “shaving grace”.