The Safety Razor Incident

We were in Chicago last weekend for a cousin’s wedding. And we had an absolutely wonderful time – from beginning to end.  Well, except for the part where I nearly sliced off the tip of my finger.  With a safety razor.

Who does that?

Yeah, I know. The answer would be “me.” 

We were getting ready for the wedding and, because I was wearing a dress and not planning to wear hosiery, I decided it was time to haul out the ol’ weed wacker and scrape off some of the leg hair that had been keeping me warm most of the winter. 

Okay, so it wasn’t really that bad, but – y’know – for the sake of dramatic effect, I needed to make it sound worse than it was.

On the other hand, it’s not like it was mere stubble either. The bad thing is the hair on my legs is blonde, so it’s hard to see if I’m getting it. And, worse, I don’t generally wear my eyeglasses in the shower, so I can’t see anything anyway.  Basically, using a razor is a dangerous proposition for someone like me.  I have to go by touch to see if I’m making any progress.

Eventually, I decided I’d done a good enough job. I figured the dress I was wearing was “tea length,” which is code for “a dress long enough to cover up those lily-white legs and hide the missed patches of leg hair.”

So I started to set the razor down on the edge of the tub. Don’t ask me what happened or how my other hand got in the way – but suddenly, the tip of my right index finger was bleeding like crazy and was stinging as if I’d, well, “shaved” off the tip. Which I had.  Took off several layers, anyway. I suspect I caught the corner of the razor, but I didn’t stop to analyze the situation just then. 

I grabbed a clean washcloth and wrapped it around the appendage. And what color is every hotel washcloth?  White.  Only within a few minutes, this one was pink.

So there I stood dripping wet, with a pink washcloth wrapped around my finger and wondering how the heck I was going to dry myself and get dressed without inadvertently adding a lot of red droplets to my blue dress.

I asked Vince to throw a towel over my head to absorb some of the water from the soggy strands of hair. I cannot tolerate dripping hair so flipping a towel turban style over my head is the first thing I do when I get out of the shower.  Besides, it’s a lesson in futility to dry one’s body if one’s hair continues to drip.

And then, of course, I showed him my injured appendage.  Well, no, truthfully, I showed him my finger first. He just shook his head and asked how in the world I managed to cut my finger so badly with a safety razor. 

Not helpful.

His second comment was to tell me to sit down and put my hand above my heart to get the wound to stop bleeding or at least slow it down a little. 

So, okay, that was a little more helpful. And I managed to sit in the chair for about a minute and a half before jumping up and declaring that I simply had to get ready for the wedding. I couldn’t imagine what sort of sight I’d make wearing my tea length dress and sporting a a big white towel wrapped around my head and a pink washcloth wrapped around my finger.

Vince warned me that the finger would continue to bleed, but I slapped a Band-Aid on it anyway and went to work. And, of course, he was right.  I had to supplement the Band-Aid with nearly every tissue in the box on the counter as bright red blood kept seeping through the top of the bandage. 

Despite such a handicap, I managed to get dressed and didn’t spill a drop of blood on my clothing. I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, I didn’t really check all that closely.

The trash can in our bathroom, however, looked as though someone had performed major surgery in there. If I’d had had more time, I would’ve tried to find a bag so I could hide all the bloody tissues. Vince said that the maid who came in to empty the trash was going to call 911 or at least look around for the dead body.

Eventually, the bloodletting slowed enough for me to replace the bandage. But, just to be safe, I applied three Band-Aids. And, yeah, I had a big wad of tan bandages around the tip of my finger, but at least I wasn’t dripping drops of blood on the carpet. And I was happy that (a) I had decided to toss those Band-Aids into my makeup bag at the last moment, and (b) I had no need of any fine motor skills that evening. Anything more than holding a fork or a wineglass was going to require assistance. Oh, and (c) I only had to polish nine fingernails instead of 10.  Saved some time.

I continued to wear a bandage the first couple days after “The Incident” because the tip of my finger was sore and tender. But now – a mere five days later – it’s almost all better. It’s amazing how quickly the human body heals itself, isn’t it? 

But I’m thinkin’ it might not be a bad idea to take an iron supplement for a few days just in case I’m now anemic.

And I’m also re-thinking the whole safety razor thing. Perhaps there is a course I could take: Shaving 101. Or maybe a manual I could read: Shaving for Dummies.  Or maybe I should just do the safe thing and put down the razor altogether.

After all, cavewomen didn't shave. And I'd be warmer in the winter. Except...it's only May. Probably I shouldn't inflict hairy legs on the masses throughout the entire summer.

Sigh. 

Okay...guess I'd better sign up for Shaving 101. Let the remedial training begin!