"She Shaves"
This is a guest story written by a very special member of the family, Donna. She is special
because she takes the time to write a Family News Letter every month documenting our
family and what they do. It years to come it will be of enormous joy to our descendents.
I am very happy she has submitted this piece for all to share. BluElf
On her 12th birthday, Brittney got her first pack of disposable razors. She had been asking to shave for a while and of
course 'Everybody Else's Mother' allows her daughter to shave at 10. I felt the day had finally come to de-hair those
5 foot long legs of hers. After all the years of buying her those play razors for the bath tub, I figured that she would at least know how to hold the razor.
No Britt, you don't hold the razor by the big end unless you wish to permanently remove your finger prints. After getting that straight,
we went through the lathering up lesson.
COOL, she says.
Now give it a try...... STOP! Aren't you forgetting something?
What?
Don't you think it would be a good idea to remove the plastic safety shield first?
Yea, I guess.
Next I preceded to show her the safe way to remove the shield, keeping the fingers away from the blade. Her eyes rolled and then came the sigh.
Now, try again. You can do it!
I cheered her on. It was so exciting! As if in slow motion, as her hand went toward her leg, I began to have
flashbacks of my own first time shaving. My aunt was there cheering me on.
No, Stop! This time I got the look.
Chill Mom! You're making me nervous!
Listen carefully Britt, you don't run the razor up your leg sideways. It's a good idea to let doctors make surgical incisions.
Really thankful that I was there, I witnessed her first swipe. She was so proud of herself.
The hair was sort of long and wasn't coming off easy so after a while, I suggested that she let me finish it for her.
She hesitantly handed the razor to me and when I retrieved it, she had a look of horror in her eyes that I had
never seen before. Her pupils were dilated and she began to tremble. Imagining the music of Friday the 13th, I took
advantage of the moment and added an evil grin and widened my eyes.
Relax! I'm only kidding, besides, you're in the hands of an expert.
Mom, first tell me how often you cut yourself.
I assured her that it was just a bad razor.
How do you know if you have a bad razor?
You don't, until you are finished.
She held her breath and squinted her eyes as I finished the shaving like a pro. Afterwards, she was
amazed at how soft her legs felt and made sure that I felt of them for myself.
A few days later, she wanted to shave alone (even though there was no hair yet). She headed to the bathroom mumbling
something about me making her syco and locked herself in (me out of) the bathroom.
An hour and a half later, her Dad in the recliner, I on the couch, we heard the door knob turn. Dad laid down his newspaper,
I my book, to see the results. As she walked out of the bathroom, she looked as though she'd been attacked by a pit bull. We
know this because of the various bandaids beginning from her heel (which told me she needed another lesson) all the way
up to ........ well, too far (which assured another lesson).
Dad shook his head and grumbled behind the newspaper. I tried to look expressionless but finally a gasp came out. I quickly
turned it into a giggle (trying not to hurt her feelings) and simply said, finished?
Yeah, well I had couple of cuts. I got the bleeding to stop like Daddy does when he walks
around with toilet paper on this neck.
I went on to explain to Brittney that we usually don't shave over FEET, and left it at that.
Abigail walked by observing the bandages and asked, Gee
Bwitt, what happened? Did you get hurwt?
I watched as the girls headed up the stairs, Britt goes up slowly and stiff legged as if they are broken. Dad was
still grumbling behind the paper. I was very proud of my girl and began to get teary eyed as I thought of how she
was growing up so fast. This puberty thing is hard on me and no one ever mentioned the growing pains that we
parents would have to go through!
Donna, 1998
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