Very bad about remembering things like that.
So. Recently, I bought a whole new packet of razors, and changed them out everywhere.
How many places can that be? You might wonder....
My bathroom.
My makeup bag.
DJ Smith's shower.
And soon thereafter, fell to personal grooming.
And promptly cut my leg.
Did so the next day too.
And the next.
And.... the next....
And the next - this time pretty bad.
And the next.
And finally I cut myself so bad on the ankle that I stopped the shower immediately and vowed to go all Madonna circa 1989.
After a day or two, I confessed this lack of shaving prowess to friend Sharon who blurted out, "Did you ever consider it may not be user error, MEGAN?"
And until she said that, no, I hadn't. Not at all.
So I went home and replaced the razor. And gingerly shaved the following morning. Cut-free.
Same with the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that.
But then... I got to thinking.... and I dug the offensive razor out of the trash.
And examined it.
Nothing unusual.
So I threw it away again.
The next day, I dug it out again, and this time compared it to the un-offensive razor in my shower, careful to make sure I didn't switch the razors accidentally in the process.
No notable differences.
And then it occurred to me.
My razor, must actually, BE:
 |
| A HORCRUX. |
Makes perfect sense. Why else would my razor be trying to kill me?
Over and out.
