I went to work today, for 8 hours, to make up time for what I missed earlier. It was a very long, congested, tiresome day, but I know I'm lucky to have a boss that lets me make up my sick time.
It was me and Neil's 17-month anniversary today, so we went to Taco Bell for dinner. Nachos Bellgrande, as usual, followed by a new CUTE AS HELL "Office," when BIG things happened with Pam & Jim! I was, like, burying my head in Neil's shoulder with the cuteness of it all. I love them and I hope the writers don't do anything stupid like on-and-off-again them to TV death. Also, Neil asked for TEN mild sauce packets, and they gave us twenty-nine. I'm not even kidding. I am set for, like, twelve frozen burritos.
Tonight, I added a few L.A. pictures to the "A Lovely Morning? Me?" and "Rollin' the Dice of Her Life" entries, in case you want to see what Dad looks like with a flower pressed to his ear. I also finished the Thursday & Friday NYTX, which is a rare occurrence, with only a little help from Google and people who did it before me and talk about it on their blog.
I came up with a couple new ideas for our wedding trip, too--we hate flying so bad, after enduring so many awful flights last year, and I think it wouldn't be a big deal to drive to NYC or Pensacola if we split the trip up enough. We had such fun listening to Angels and Demons on the way home from Pigeon Forge at Christmas that I know we could do it again. And for my dress--could I get away with a really deep red sheath dress thing? Or a dark emerald green? My thoughts were leaning to a shiny golden brown or gold color, but I don't know if I should limit myself to that.
Okay. So, The Razor. Here it is:
She is The Wilkinson Sword, purchased at a chemist's around the corner from my Oxford dorm room--get this--last May. It came in a set of three, two of which remain in the package, because the Sword has never worn out. And I am not such an infrequent shaver! I mean, it doesn't happen daily by any means, but it isn't as seldom as a once-monthly occurrence either.
I generally avoid disposable razors. In this case, I bought them in England because I didn't want to pack one, figuring that if I did, the flight people would assume I'd threaten the pilot with a safe but close shave if they didn't drop me off in Iceland. And I didn't want to invest in the Venus-type replacement-blade model I usually prefer, because I already have two here, and everything is twice the price o'er the pond anyway.
I don't know how I wound up with the fluke kick-ass razor I did. The colors (turquoise and pinky-lavender) are horrific, and "Wilkinson Sword" sounds like a brand Ward Cleaver might use every morning with his Burma-Shave before kissing June goodbye on his way to the office. Other chicks at the seminar said the razors they'd bought (at the same place!) were ineffective and bloodied up their legs like a hatchet, but I, selfishly, didn't let them know my chosen brand. Who knows--maybe this is the only one of its kind, and if I ever give it up, the other two in the package will last the normal disposable razor's shower-shelf-life of approximately a third of a shave.
This truly magical razor has lasted almost a year. Every time I get out of the shower, I gingerly run my finger along my leg for fear that it would remain stubbly. But I am never disappointed.
Wilkinson Sword, I salute you. You're worth much more than the three pounds fifty or whatever it was I paid on that rainy day.
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