Shaving cream? What's that?

As you, the FCN faithful, already know, my facial hair situation was, if not dire, certainly untenable. As a side note, the previous sentence has more commas than any I've written in a long time.

Last Tuesday, an FCN reader presented me with a nifty two-bladed razor with a gorgeous red bow. The razor was dark blue, for those of you who were wondering. Later that day, a highly abusive and manipulative female forced me against my will to promise to leave a mustache and silk patch intact. I tossed the razor onto my very cluttered counter and went about my daily college student life. The next day, I had nearly forgotten about the whole thing.

Folks at school started calling me Shaggy. I was okay with that. Then they started calling me Scruffles. I was not okay with that. By the end of the week, they were calling me Chuck Norris, and I decided something needed to be done. My solution was decidedly non-Norris-esque. I went to the bathroom and broke out the razor.

The bow was tied on really well. I nearly busted a fingernail trying to untie it. After fifteen minutes of frustration, I gave up on the bow and started shaving. My manliness was offended. All I could see in the mirror was a gigantic ball of red ribbon streaking across my face.

I had already started shaving the left half of the mustache when I remembered my commitment. Oops. I shaved the right side to make the thing symmetrical and left it at that. The result was vaguely reminiscent of a famous 20th century German leader, but I thought nothing of it.

As it turns out, it was very convenient that I didn't have to shave in various places around my mouth, because the embattled razor went dull on me after only seventy minutes of shaving. I caught myself scrubbing the blades back and forth across my face like a toothbrush. Everyone who has used a razor and never employed the toothbrush method has secretly wondered what it's like. Now you're going to find out. At first, there's no sensation. You rub the shaved section and notice that it is now incredibly smooth, as if it's been sanded down. Then, after five to ten seconds, a light burning sensation starts to set in. After thirty seconds, it feels as if the whole scrubbed section is a gigantic patch of densely spaced shaving cuts. The real pain comes when you apply the aftershave. People have different ways of reacting to this. Mine was to scramble, screaming, through the tiny window over the shower and into the dog kennel twenty feet below.
The window was closed. Stress on the was.

I now have a patch of razor burn on my left cheek about the size of a post-it note. But my facial hair is properly corrected, and I look and feel respectable. My commitments have been met.

Now if only my homies would quit calling me Richelieu.