I don’t like many things. Seinfeld felt my pain. His ability to be frustrated over the minutiae of daily life made me a devoted follower, because there was someone else out there like me. For example, I dated a girl in college who would sing “…give me the Beach Boys and free my soul// I wanna get lost in….”. No matter how many times I corrected her, she still sang it that way. It was like nails on the chalkboard of my soul. Although I’m sure that wasn’t the only reason we broke up, that is the lasting memory I have of her. Additionally, I’m quite the contrarian. With most of my lineage originating in the Commonwealth of Kentucky, I naturally hated the one thing that united them: the Lexington institution of “higher” learning’s basketball team. I chose to root for Duke University just to infuriate them. There were no ties to Duke or even the state of North Carolina, but it was the team that they hated most.
But the bit of minutiae that I hate at the moment, is the traditional practice of shaving. Hot water. Foaming goo. Carefully scraping a sharp object across the surface of your face. Pieces of toilet paper sticking to your face, because there is no way to not cut your face. Your face is shaped like a face. It will get cut. Going into the process knowing you will disfigure yourself is a good way to lower your expectations. I highly advise it. The whole practice is non-sensical and stupid. These guys agree:
Luckily, someone shared my distaste for the process and invented the electric razor. In the infancy of my shaving years, I was told that the electric razor was inferior to manual. Despite these claims (and my contrarian nature), I dismissed the detractors and became a loyal electric razorer. Many a joyous morning was spent looking in the rear view mirror and shaving without a care in the world. Sure, there were looks from other commuters, but they were just jealous of my ten extra minutes if sleep.
There is one drawback of the electric razor. It must be assembled to work. I know this because mine is currently in a non-mission capable state, due to it being in a dozen pieces and occupying the vast black hole that is the backseat of the car.
Upon returning from church last weekend, I noticed the razor was missing from the designated cup holder. I traced its path by following the parts laid out like bread crumbs and it led to my oldest’s seat. Doing his best Thomas Edison, he was looking closely, turning knobs, and of course evaluating the razor’s durability through a series of stress tests. I sat and watched this happening. My hope was that he would conclude his tests, then gather the parts and assemble them with little to no effort. His keen analytical mind would see the puzzle strewn out before him an develop a MacGuyver instinct to make it not only a razor, but a weather sensor that would assist in clothing choices. This was not the case. He was as puzzled as I was, and about half as interested.
I started gathering pieces of my formerly awesome razor. Carson seemed inattentive and apathetic to my plight. He knew not of the burning, itching, and accidental cutting. How could he understand? His life is filled with a no consequence diet and unlimited toys. He has another decade of this feeling. His face will stay smooth and hair free for the foreseeable future.
And honestly, I don’t want to ruin his ignorance. I want him to stay five years old forever. I want him to think his daddy has the biggest muscles. That happiness is as easy as a pack of gum. And that success is talking your mom into a pack of Cars 2 microdrifters. I want him to sit in my lap and read his books forever.
But that isn’t how it goes. One day he too will know the pain of shaving. Then the joy of me purchasing him an electric razor. And the abject horror of me taking that razor apart with a hammer. 😉