What follows is a short story about my mom, my dad, my grandmother, my grandfather, and four items, each of which I associate with one of these people.
Needed to shave.
Lacked proper Mach 3 razor.
Borrowed father’s electric shaver.
Had forgotten that electric shavers are useless if you have more than a few days’ worth of beard.
Ended up grinding the damn thing into my face trying to make it work.
Gave up after twenty minutes.
Stole one of my mom’s disposable lady razors, associations be damned.
Finished shaving.
Suffered with red, irritated face.
Went to pick up grandma’s prescription at drug store.
Saw aftershave-skin soother combo.
Bought it.
Applied it.
Burned the christ out of my face.
Slammed fist on counter several times.
Recognized the smell.
Realized that the “balm” I bought was, in fact, the very same brand as that which I’d previously burned my face with twenty years previous, while toodling through the contents of my grandfather’s medicine cabinet.
Face still hurts
However, I now smell like my grandpa.
The lesson: Your family matters. And twenty years is enough time to forget extreme physical pain.
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