Razor Burn

Remember those old razors  that required you to unscrew the bottom of the handle and insert that thin, deadly piece of metal in it? It was with fear and trepidation that men took those things to their faces, and I'm fairly certain that they ALWAYS came away hacked up in one manner or another. What is so interesting is that they were called "Safety Razors". Seriously? Though I suppose that after a long bare straight razor, these  DID look safer!

When these razors were popular, houses like the one I grew up in, were built with a magical slot in the medicine cabinets in which to drop the blades. I can remember dropping in anything that would fit through those slots and being amazed at it's magical disappearance. Bobby pins, pennys', (though not too often because you could buy stuff with them then!) slips of paper, potato chips, pieces and parts from my brothers toys...... Poof! They were gone!

Every once in a while I'll catch a home improvement program on TV and when the walls of these mid century homes are opened up, I always laugh at all the detritus that pours from the walls behind the old medicine cabinets. I guess that stuff really didn't disappear. It was just being stored away for an archaeological dig. 

It was with one of those old safety razors that I learned to shave. My dad is the one who taught me. He got me all set up with a mug and shaving soap and a badger hair brush. Barbasol had already been available for quite some time, but dad liked the soap and brushes, so that's how he taught me. I think it was the ceremony of getting the water just right, and then wetting the brush, rubbing it over the soap in the bottom of the shaving mug and then applying it to your face......... And it smelled really good too. Clean and fresh. 

He gave me a Fire-King Jadeite coffee mug to use. And the whole process was pretty cool........... until I had to actually take that razor to my legs. Or worse yet, my arm pits. I was 12, and it was time, but my skin wasn't ready for such abuse. And I didn't realize that you didn't necessarily know you had cut yourself until the blood started gushing down the drain. Those things took forEVER to heal. My mother was pretty stingy with band aids too, so I usually walked around with little pieces of toilet paper stuck to my legs with a styptic pencil. 

It was also through this process that I became intimately acquainted with razor burn. So, my dad introduced me to shaving powder. I made quite a picture walking around with my arms held out away from my body because my pits were so burned that I couldn't put them down, sporting a layer of shaving powder that rained down on whatever I was wearing, with torn up pieces of toilet paper randomly glued to my legs. I'm so sorry you missed it. 

When I learned that the women didn't shave in Europe, I kinda' wished I had been born in France. 

...as they observe your chaste and respectful behavior. 

Your adornment must not be merely external-braiding the hair and wearing gold jewelry 

or putting on dresses; 

but let it be the hidden person of the heart, 

with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, 

which is precious in the sight of God. 

1 Peter 3:2-4

Classic Shaving