You know what I love? HELPING. Yes. Despite all my bitterness and hate-y attitudes about everything, I really do love helping people. So when Geo beckons me up to our upstairs bathroom every week or so, I hop up the stairs, anxious to change lives. Every 7-10 days, I get to help him help himself. I get to shave the back of his head.
I've always thought of myself as quite a little hair savant. Granted, I don't wash/style my own hair, but I certainly know that hair above the neck is like crazy important to a person's image and it's often the difference between homelessness and a business loan. So I know it's a big deal that four years ago, Geo asked for my help cleaning up his neck.
He had to remind me that "Better is the enemy of good." I was not to go too high and I was DEFINITELY not allowed to move around sections of his head without putting this guard-thing on the razor first. He was petrified.
But, like I do with everything I don't totally understand, I effing nailed it on the first time. I cleaned his neck up, made him look presentable and did so without drawing any blood. Where do I get my trophy? Four years ago, I proved myself to be an irreplaceable partner to Geo's hygienic routine and he hasn't been able to shake me since.
I asked Geo tonight what kind of memorable experiences he had about shaving. I have, like, traumas rooted in my first leg-shaving experience and an indescribable fear of having hair in my armpits, so I totally expected an awesome man-shaving story.
Alas, I was disappointed. Geo said "I don't know, my dad brought me home an electric razor because that's what he used. So I used it." I pressed him. "Were you nervous? Did you get lessons? Were there any hilarious mishaps?" And he was like "No. My dad got me a razor so I started using it." Ugh. Men.
Well, despite the fact that hair removal is an absolutely devastating experience for women, it is apparently a super great step in life for men. Good thing I'm absolutely amazing at it.
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