I get back from the gym and pop into the shower. Seeing that I could use a shave, I reach for my backup, El Cheapo disposable Bic. Without checking, I proceed to run the razor across my face and tear my face to shreds.
Whimpering and moaning, I step out of my minor bloodbath and check the razor. Naturally my dear wife’s blonde hairs are found on this crime scene. I don’t have to go into the mechanics of why men and women do not share shaving implements. (I think Cecil explained this in one of his columns)
My major complaint is that I thought, after four years of wedded bliss to Mrs. Bluepony, I thought we had the bathroom protocol pretty much negotiated. All I possess in our bathroom is one corner of the tub where I keep my plain bar of Ivory soap, one bottle of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo and one backup disposable razor. The rest of the area is devoted to Mrs. Bluepony’s Bath and Body Works Extravaganza with the accompanying cremes, scrubs, face goo, and Baskin-Robbins 31-Flavor scented Olay Coconut Tropical Herbal Jasmine Daquiri hair care products. To make matters worse, she has her own wet/dry 15-speed vacuum-powered triple-rotary head Lady Smoothgams shaver.
Is it too much for me to ask for my little corner of undisturbed bath items? I have brought it up to Mrs. Bluepony over and over again. All I get is a bat of her pretty blue eyes and her Irish smile. Taking that for a “Yes, honey, I totally understand and I will never do that again” I drop the subject. Am I missing something here, or is this part of the endless chess game we play with our significant others? I really love this lady, but I’m starting to lose large amounts of blood with alarming frequency.
“…send lawyers, guns, and money…”
Warren Zevon