Have I ever mentioned how much I hate mornings?

Besides peeling myself out from beneath my soft, warm blankets, the entire process of getting everyone and myself ready for the day is quite unpleasant.

I am NOT a morning person. at. all. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult-life arriving home from work and eating dinner at 8 am, and now I find myself still adjusting to the more human sleep/wake cycle. As a result, I can barely utter a word before a cup of coffee, and on weekends, I can shuffle around like an 80-year old man in Pj’s for a good few hours.

Unfortunately, my weekdays don’t allow that. My recent alarm clock has been our 2-year old tugging at my arm saying “Mommyyyyy! Wake…UP!”

So I have two choices:

1) Get out of bed and shower so I can drive my husband to work on time and get my daughter out of the house to socialize.


2) Let my husband watch her for 10 more minutes so I can continue to be in a half-sleep/awake state.

Today, I chose option 2. Which meant shower time was going to be tight. I did my usual bathroom routine- brushed my pearly whites, washed my tired face, and then stepped into a steaming shower.

Everything was typical,…until I realized I needed to shave.

*looks down*

Yup, definitely need to shave.

I turned around and looked for my razor on the tub ledge. It wasn’t there. I pushed aside the wet shower curtain to check the counter. Not there either!

It must have made it into the trash somehow. This was an emergency! I needed a shaving device- STAT!

In a state of desperation, I looked left. I looked right. And then I looked up and found this…

No, that is not a woman’s razor.

On the contrary, it is one of those Mach XXXII, or what ever they’re called. The ones with a few dozen blades, because beards and mustaches have somehow evolved into dense forests that require instruments like these to whack them down.

I’ve felt my husband’s beard before. Okay, so maybe I can see the justification- But for my soft legs?

I was a bit skeptical, but I had no time to debate the issue. I lathered up, and began to pull the razor up my leg.

To my surprise, it felt kind of nice.

Really nice.

Hey! My razor doesn’t feel this nice! Like a gentle mower, and not the weed-whacker I expected.

Maybe there really is something to the hoard of blades…


The bathroom door peeked open. “We have to leave soon!”

I stood frozen, but my right arm stealthily tucked the paraphernalia behind a shampoo bottle.

“Okay! I’m almost done”


I think he would die if he knew I used it to shave “there.”


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