Razor

At this point I have spent about a bonus worth of income on disposable razors. I travel a lot, and I have squirreled away more to-go bags than a mother of octuplets filled with the same repetitive toiletries of shampoo, toothpaste, and enough Pepto to stop up a septic tank. Yet I always forget razors. So I buy razors from Targets, 7-11s, and hotel snack shops around the country. This of course leads me to shop and buy a little something extra for myself wasting even more money. Yes I should reward myself for sitting on my ass for 8 hours in a different city with a Kit Kat.

Sometimes I forgo the razor thinking I can go the two weeks without shaving. Its 2019. Women don’t have to shave, but the thing is I do enjoy the feeling on a smooth leg. Embrace the hair I mutter to myself while rubbing my legs like Gollum.  But then I go to my fancy gyms with little newborn gazelles in tiny spare scraps of spandex that Lulu Lemon disposes of with rose petal nipple covers and Kleenex boxes on their feet, trademark Addidas, and all of a sudden my hippie Amazonian lewk of hairy pits that are smelling metallic because I managed to also forgo deodorant for the morning in my 10 minute work prep haste and I begin to regret my hairy situation.

I may hold off on the razor a little longer by lotioning my legs for their twice annual glistening only to scrub it off as soon as I start walking and leg sweating like I’ve wrapped myself in cellophane.

So I break down and ask the hotel if they have a free non-recyclable blue single blade razor individually packaged for my pleasure. They say “oh we don’t have one currently but give me your room number and we will get one up to you as soon as possible.” So I give my room number and immediately regret it because that means instead of lounging naked on my bed for the next 4 hours until sleep means I should be reasonably dressed for the unlikely event a random hotel clerk knocks on my door. It also makes me consider a Pepto. I will have just eaten dinner, including a vegetable, so its only a matter of time. So I pace by the door for two hours before accepting the razor is not coming and lay in the bed as desired watching Property Brothers looking at my very saggy left boob wondering if it’s normal to be able to fold so effortlessly over my hand like a soggy biscuit only to take notice of my black pit hair peaking out.

So I determine tomorrow I will walk the .1 miles to buy a razor. Its simply too late for that today I think eyes darting to the clock reading 7:21pm. It’s at this point I pet my legs. They’re so soft. And the hair is starting to blend in with the leg and lay flat. I begin soothing myself pretending to pet a small cute animal and think perhaps I shouldn’t shave. I wear capris the next day and my once soft leg hair has bed head and is spiking out again. With two days until home I break down and buy a razor and shave that evening in the tub leaving a flood line mark of hair in the tub for housekeeping to clean out.

The next morning I see my flood line, get disgusted and scrub it off with a washcloth and walk to work. Sometimes I realize I don’t have a razor when I am about to leave the house but the action of walking the path to the front door and in the house, up the stairs, and opening the drawer of endless travel supplies is too overwhelming despite my four hour lead time to the airport and I drive off regardless.

So this happens monthly. And has for years. Today is Monday and I’m smooth as a river rock but come Friday I'll be bedraggled from a week away from home nibbling on cucumber rinds trying to avoid the travelers gut that comes from 3 square meals of sodium enriched fat from the local restaurants and naturally that is when my boyfriend will come to visit me for the first time in 6 weeks. So I better get my ass to Target or hope he has become attracted to work aggressive porcupines putting off more musk than a lion in heat marking my territory around the room that now has a particular odor from refusing housekeeping services to earn a measly 2,000 points reducing an hourly staff members wages so I can be an eighteenth of the way towards a free one night stay in a dank Delaware Sheraton off an interstate 32 miles from my destination.