It’s the best of times, it’s the worst of times. A sentence I just now thought of completely off the top of my head, with no help whatsoever from books of yesteryear about cities. The phrase sets the stage for the process of shaving one’s legs. A task I would press the government to legally mandate the renaming of to “The Eighth Reason Why Women are the Stronger Sex.” The other seven reasons may or may not be found throughout my regular blogs, so be sure to carve out some time in your day to read up as I shave off more than I can eschew.
Apart from the nicks and bruises, nooks and crannies, ins and outs, ups and downs, shaving truly is a sport about which I am passionate and enjoy. Setting some extra time aside in the day to spend with soap, shaving cream, or conditioner if I’m out of the other two weapons of mass destruction, to ensure that my legs are softer than a baby’s bottom, and all-in-all, a less prickly pair is truly a feat of athletic valor which I love to partake in.
Unless you’re Jesus or living in a bearded commune, it’s difficult to get around the inevitability of the need to shave: armpits, faces, legs, arms, and any other personal preference appendages which can remain private (no pun intended).
Until recently, my shaving experiences always resulted in me smoking through a pack of Band-Aids, having the walls of my shower look like I bombed a colony of red blood cells in it, or a trail across my rug of bright, red…well, you get the point. I cut myself. A lot. And not even to take out any aggression or sadistically self-punish, or because I am depressed beyond repair, but simply because my razors SUCKED. They just couldn’t stand up to the high pressure demands I was placing on them and they responded with spite.
I won’t bash any particular razor companies, because I wouldn’t want to be a total Bic. Nor would I tell you which shaving creams just don’t Gillette with me. So, I’ll just Glide along without mentioning names; sometimes though, I can’t help but shout out, “Oh, Schick!” when taking yet another slice out of my diminishingly skinless hamstrings.
As I have rapidly lost blood, and faith in razor companies at large, I have reached the conclusion that since men are from Mars, it’s got to be them creating the products for our delicate Venus-born species. It’s always been my strong belief that in order to have the rights to be a female razor creationist, one should be forced to take a pre-requisite class in Anatomy and maybe a class or two in Counseling, since that is what I usually need a few sessions of after a morning shave.
Although our American razors have been hand-crafted to single handedly cause me to need a blood donor, the razors in France are even worse. I think the French literally attach a butter knife blade to some plastic and disguise it to look like some no-name, razor. I know the ladies there may not care to shave (and now I know why), but tourists like me appreciate at least something they are able to smooth over, since most of the experience travelling abroad is not exactly graceful especially when all you speak is Franglish ( self-invented French, Spanish, English hybrid language).
After one too many scarring experiences, a girl needs a solution, ideally one that wouldn’t cost me all the change in my penny jar. Enter the Dollar Shave Club. I heard of these lifesavers when my boyfriend called me into the room to watch this great video as he was browsing about on StumbleUpon.com‘s site I highly recommend if you often find yourself doing the “same old, same old” on the internet or if you have any interests whatsoever). Dollar Shave Club has created a way for you to not only receive the best shave of your life, but also, it frees your hands to take care of other matters by ensuring you will never have to actually physically purchase razor blades again. That’s right, they send them to your doorstep!
For my birthday present this year, instead of a piece of cake, I gained peace of mind brought to me in the form of this fancy shmancy, high-tech, cutting edge, yet radically affordable razor, known as the “4x”. They likely chose this name because each of my legs is 4x as happy as it was before, and I don’t wanna be all butcherin’ my math (I only do that to my grammar), but I believe that brings me to an overall 16x happier, which has made a huge difference in my existence as a female. My family life has gotten smoother, my attention at work has been sharpened, and my personal relationships are a sliver of heaven. I hate to cut this short, but what else can I say? You have to try this for yourself! They have three razors to choose from, and a whole lots of useful information and witty humor. “Shave time. Shave money” is their mantra, and here I am hoping that it will soon be your mantra as well.
Be sure to watch the video on their website, because that alone is the next best thing since sliced bread….and Lord knows how great that invention was.
Tune in next week, where I’ll be discussing their newest product, the “flushable and moist” “One Wipe Charlies”. Only joking, that is mirky water I do not venture into as a lady. I wouldn’t want to get my bikini dirty.