If she doesn’t have to wipe off the sink so she can use it, doesn’t sigh or grumble about the mess, I celebrate a small victory in my head.
The stuff that grows out of my face can hardly be called hair. My manly scruff is far more resilient and tenacious than normal, mortal whiskers. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out this so-called “hair” was actually some kind of braided iron at a molecular level. It makes short work of any razor, electric or manual. Each strand grows in bright red, but my head-hair is brown. I call it, “Viking Beard.”
Daily preening pits stubborn man versus Viking Beard in a gladiator battle for bathroom supremacy. My pre-shave ritual involves a very hot shower, liberal amounts of conditioner applied to the face, and deft, confident face-blading. If I don’t carefully prepare, I suffer unsightly bumps and burning that look and feel like I tried to extinguish a campfire with my face.
When blade meets face I’m overtaken by a warrior-like zeal, the razor moving with deftness and speed that is both satisfying and dangerous. My Viking ancestors possess my arm, swinging the Gillette in the bathroom like it was a battle axe in the fjords. When the dust clears, and all blobs of Barbasol (The Beard Buster) disappear down the drain, the aftermath is apparent.
I always silently panic when I see the disaster area I’ve made in our little bathroom. Mistakes were made. Spots were missed. Blood is in the water and on tiny pieces of toilet paper.
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When I shave, I tend to make a mess. A big mess. Tiny shards of Viking Beard are suspended in globules of water all over the sink, floor, toilet, and decorative soap dispenser. When I lived alone, this was not an issue. My monthly sink cleaning would take care of the dried beard corpses, and I didn’t mind them being there in the interim.
Now that I live with my lady, she takes issue to me leaving the casualties of the beard-razor war all over the sink for weeks at a time, gently reminding me that a pile of my discarded face trimmings in the same place she brushes her teeth is kind of gross. I appreciate her concerns. She has to use the sink more often than I do, for various hair and makeup related things I don’t fully understand.
Try as I might to be a tidy partner, I still manage to leave a ridiculous amount of hair all over everywhere. Sometimes I look down and there is more hair on the sink than was on my face to begin with. Sometimes the human hair ball causes a backup of water that requires impromptu hand-plunging. Sometimes errant strands get behind the spigot, in that weird little space between the back of the sink and the wall. I have yet to work out the physics of how exactly that is possible.
I always silently panic when I see the disaster area I’ve made in our little bathroom. Mistakes were made. Spots were missed. Blood is in the water and on tiny pieces of toilet paper. I peek out of the slightly ajar door, hoping she won’t see what I’ve done. I rinse the sink out like a crazed person, trying to hide the evidence of my crime. The water is useless; it just pushes the hair around. I try to add soap, but that just makes it worse, combining with the trimmings to make little hair-bubbles that look like spiders. She hates spiders.
I panic because I don’t want to disappoint. I feel like I owe it to her to keep the house clean, as part of my imaginary “husband contract.” You know; that thing every guy makes up after a year or so of living together to keep her in his favor and loving him like he loves her.
But I need to shave. I can’t go through my life pretending to be Amish, just to avoid an argument.
I’m sure she wouldn’t judge me nearly as harshly as I judge myself. I convince myself that she’ll deem me unworthy as a mate if I’m not clean and organized. She’ll leave me for an alpha male who doesn’t bother with shaving, opting for the “Gorillas in the Mist” look. Or a man who has less hair, on his face or otherwise. Or at least for a man who has a better track record of housekeeping.
She is already so tolerant of my quirks; my late night mandolin solos, my walking around naked where the neighbors can clearly see, my inability to avoid using a bad pun when the opportunity so deliciously presents itself. She ignores or tolerates that I’ve taken up the entire inside of our spare fridge with beer, and that the piles of clothes will get moved, eventually, when I find time. She has made cohabitation something so comfortable and natural, that I feel it only fair I make whatever little efforts I can to make up for my other bothersome, bizarre, bacchanalian behavior.
Time to focus. I put a lot of effort into the clean-up. I clear the battlefield and send letters to the follicles who lost their sons in combat. I scour the sink with cleaners, hoping to dislodge any stubborn hangers-on who don’t understand that is it time to go. My goal is to leave the sink slightly cleaner than when I started. Pristine porcelain for my precious paramour.
Even after I clear off the hair, I more often than not forget to dry the sink. A sink is supposed to be wet, right? Wrong. A sink, when used for lady-getting-ready-to-go-out-things is supposed to be dry. Bone dry.
So after I clean, I dry. If I can’t find a towel, I’ll just use a t-shirt. Or my boxer-briefs. Or the cat, if he’s nearby. I try to mop up every last drop of water. I feel like I’m reenacting a Bounty paper towel commercial every morning.
When I’m satisfied with my work, I’ll step out of the bathroom. I’ll check one last time to make sure the sink looks good.
If she goes into the bathroom after me, I’ll loiter awkwardly in the hallway, gauging her reaction. I pretend to be very interested in the dirty laundry to not give away my ruse.
If she doesn’t have to wipe off the sink so she can use it, doesn’t sigh or grumble about the mess, I celebrate a small victory in my head.
One small victory in the war against my face. One big victory for my relationship.
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Man is shaving image courtesy of Shutterstock
Showering before shaving helps as others have said. What I do is shower normally and when I get out of the shower I don’t dry my face and instead just apply shaving gel (Nivea for the win). Then I give it a few minutes (some of which I use to dry the rest of my body off) to get a bit softer and then let the blades fly.
Shave in the shower. You can buy a mirror that sticks to the wall at the pharmacy or bed bath and beyond type store. Wipe the mirror with a little soap and rinse it to prevent fogging. I have been shaving in the shower most of my shaving life and can’t imagine any other way.
ah i’m not worth looking at in the mirror- I’ve been doing it braille for over 30 yrs-
(I don’t know if you’re joking or not but years ago I actually used to do that. Shave in he shower so I wouldn’t have to look at my own face.)
And here I imagined those deep scars were from your wilderness mountain man days when you shaved with a two-headed axe.
I use a straight razor (cut throat) along with nice soaps I have to lather with a brush. I also use a double edge razor from time to time – the kind dad used with bomb-bay doors to load the blade. Much cheaper way to shave, gets a closer shave, and you don’t have ingrown hair issues. Both straight razor and double edge razor shaving take a bit of practice, but the long-term results are worth it. As far as your sink issue, move to a bigger place with his and hers sinks in the master bath. My sink can… Read more »
Learn to shave in the shower.
1- it softens your beard
2- you won’t leave crap all over the sink.
It will take you about a week to get it figured out.
I did it with a moustache for years.
You may have to nick the side burns in the mirror.
Of all the things I’ve fought with women over this isn’t one.
Oh and as long as we’re on the no fight plan.
I leave the toilet seat up ” that way you know I didn’t pee on it”
Learn to shave in the shower! That’s a good one. I HATE shaving and I have to do it often. I think I’ll try this and hopefully keep the blood loss to a minimum.
I have a mirror in the shower. You can get awesome vacuum hooks for walls. Run the warm water over the face a bit to open the poors n soften it all a bit.
While my beard is not fully in, I have incredibly coarse hair. The hair on my head has jammed many a razor, and my beard is many times worse. You should really look at shaving the way people did back in the day. I switched from traditional cartridge razors to a double edge safety razor, and I haven’t looked back. Combine that with a nice shave soap and brush, and you’ll get a much closer shave with far less hassle. Get yourself feather platinum coated blades which are surgically sharp, and you’ll be amazed at how you got along with… Read more »
I’ve got a genuine shaving expert video post coming on Monday, complete with beaver hair brush. You’ll love it, Collin.
I keep a beard for a couple of reasons. I don’t like how I look without one, and I really, really hate shaving, especially around the nose and mouth. I shave my neck and cheeks weekly, trim my whole head on the same #3 clipper guard, and call it done.
Ah, such newlyweds. My husband has a Viking beard, as well. It isn’t red, but it is certainly capable of invading small villages in a longboat. He thoughtfully spreads a towel across the sink while shaving then folds all the hairs into the towel with the intention of taking the towel outside, shaking free all his whiskers, and putting the towel in the laundry. What usually happens, though, is that he leaves the folded towel on the back of the toilet like a hair filled trap. I see it, pick it up thinking it’s a clean towel, open it and… Read more »