Arrrgh!!!

I think the MAN who invented disposable razors needs to be taken out and hung by his……..well……..nevermind!

A couple of weeks ago, I was going to have a pedicure. I am blessed to be able to indulge myself this way once a month. Besides the obvious hedonism involved, the pedicures have improved my general foot health, so I make sure that I keep the appointments. You can also add mental and emotional health to that list. My office is in my home, so it’s nice to be able to get away now and then and socialize while I’m being pampered within an inch of my life.

The morning of the pedicure, I needed to shave my legs. Trust me guys, women don’t go to the salon for a pedicure looking hairy. It’s just not done. I was pressed for time, and I knew that my mother would be tapping her toes, waiting for me to take her to exercise class, so I picked up my razor and decided that it might be a good idea to change blades. That was a mistake.

I was out of replacement blades, so my choices were the dull blade, or a disposable razor left over from a trip. I opted for the disposable razor, and hopped into the tub. (Speedbump….if you’re reading……yep, it’s the tub that just about put you to sleep when you visited. *G*)

I should have used the dull blade. I zipped through the shaving, and was stepping out of the tub when I realized blood was flowing down both legs! I was dabbing at it when I realized I was seriously late…..and hoofed it down the hall to warn my mother that I might be a bit longer. While I’m standing there, blood is gushing down my right leg. “Mom, I’ll be ready as soon as I can; I have to do something about this first.”

I washed my legs and put a Band-Aid over the worst gusher. I had dripped on the carpet, and when I knelt down to clean it up, blood oozed through the Band-Aid and made another mess. I must have had twenty cuts that were dripping!

It’s taken me weeks to recover, and there are still a few spots that need to heal, including a patch of razor burn. I collected every disposable razor in the house and threw them out. It’s a good thing I’m well known at the salon. Given concerns about AIDS, they could have refused to touch me. In the future I’ll go to my appointments hairy rather than risk slicing my legs up like that again.

The only good thing that came of this was that I discovered I could divert my mother from being impatient with me if I am seriously bleeding. I know. It would be easier to get my act together and be on time, but then I’d have to give up sleeping. I'd rather bleed.