15 days of writer’s block, and this is my triumphant return? It’s a post about my razor. Pfffft!

So, I’ve been having a bit of a showdown with my brain. It appears that she reads my blog and didn’t agree with my portrayal of her in some of my posts. So, she shut it down. BOOM! And I was pissed. And nervous. Because I also make my living by writing words. Words that need to join with other words to form some sentences that join with other sentences to convey important information to people. Or just information to people. I put the important adjective in there because it makes me feel good. Indulge me. Writer’s block, people. So, the writer’s block spell that she cast over me was specifically focused on my blog, and I didn’t want to anger her lest she cast another spell and shut down all writing. Because that shit would be bad. So, I went about my business. I didn’t even visit my blog or think about it in my mind too much. Whenever I would think of a possible post topic, I’d just whistle tunelessly and glance nervously around as if the enemy wasn’t planted firmly in my head. And then she offered me an olive branch today. Well, considering the material, I think we can really say she offered me an olive twig today. An olive shoot? Because she allowed me to write an entire post during my shower today. Oh, it’s perfectly awful. But I’ll take it.

I accidentally purchased those stupid swivel-head razors the last time I ran out and didn’t bother to note which brand I used when I threw the old one away. And what fun those little devils are! I’ve decided that the swivel-head razors were developed for small areas only. Like the area above your lip. Or perhaps for cutting a stray thread off your clothing in a pinch. Maybe they are just novelty items that were never intended to be useful, but merely amusing. They certainly should never be used for shaving large swaths of a person’s body. But I fancy myself fairly dexterous. Stop laughing. I said I fancy myself dexterous. I didn’t say that I was dexterous. Anyway. So, I looked at those bad boys all PINK! PINK! PINK! and ready to get shaving and thought to myself, “This is going to work well. These little guys are made for a precision shave. Who needs to wax?” And I went to work. I’d cut a sweet little chunk out of my ankle before I had really gotten started. The blood started to flow nicely. It’s always a good idea to check on your clotting status. I soldiered on, trying to avoid the area of my ankle I had hacked (only cut it twice more – awesome!) and made it through the first leg with no further injury to any other part save the ankle with its thrice-sliced section that was bleeding a little more insistently. But you really can’t stop for first aid when you’ve only completed half of the job, so, onward. I made it through half of the second leg when I lost my focus. At the knee. A very bad place to lose focus. That knee looks like a surgical site. Where the surgeon was one Victor Frankenstein. It’s a good thing that it is the season of pants. You have been spared a truly horrible sight, local people. Rejoice!!

I have thrown all of the little, pink torture devices out and returned to my old brand.

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