After we moved from California to Maine at the end of June and were stuck in a hotel for a month while waiting to move into our house, I was always misplacing shit.
We were in such close quarters and things were always being moved around. If I couldn’t find something I needed, my husband would always say “It’ll show up soon”. More times than not, the stuff just seemed to vanish into thin air, never to be seen again.
On July 29th, we finally moved into our new house and that morning we made a mad dash packing up everything in the hotel room. We needed to check out by 7:30 am so we’d be at our house in time for when the movers showed up.
Our things were thrown into whatever bag it would fit in. Fast forward 10 days.
I had been without my razor during that time and my husband would always say his usual “It’ll turn up.” Around day 5 of my MIA razor, we were at the store and I was thinking fuck this, I need a damn razor because the hair on my legs is starting to blow in the occasional breeze.
The hubby said I should wait because he was sure I’d find it. Yeah, uh huh.
I was tired of feeling like a Sasquatch so when he went downstairs, I went into his bathroom and got out his electric razor. I started shaving my legs with it. If I didn’t have my razor, I was going to use his.
Then came the time for my armpits. I hesitated for a minute because ewww, he was going to be rubbing his face all over the head of the razor that will probably smell like my armpits.
I could just picture him walking out of the bathroom in the morning with razor in hand, asking me why in the hell does it smell like a smelly armpit. I, of course, would play dumb and blame it on the dog because everybody seems to blame their dogs for everything.
But since we don’t have a dog, I would have to fess up. I said fuck it, my pits need to be shaved, and I took his electric razor to them.
Motherfucking ouch! The razor shredded my armpits and since my skin is super sensitive, it looked like I rubbed them against the bark of trees.
I heard the hubby coming up the stairs and ran outta there, into my bathroom to take a shower. By the time I got out, it looked like my underarms were mauled by a bear and damn, it really hurt.
When I walked out of the bathroom to look in a bag for lotion, there sat my fucking razor. It was in a bag we both looked in a few times. What the hell, razor?
It took a day or two before my armpits stopped throbbing in pain and fortunately, my husband’s face didn’t smell like an armpit after he used his razor.
*I fucking LOVE this song.