Blossom

One of my friends told me this funny story about the time he received a post-surgical consult from an Asian Doctor who had a very thick accent.

Being concerned after his colon surgery he was very keen to hear what his doctor had to say – but was dismayed because he couldn’t understand what he was being told.

Doctor: “You need to cream. You must cream the blossom every day.”

Friend: “What?”

Doctor: “Very important to cream.”

Friend: “Cream what?”

Doctor: “Your blossom.”

Friend: “What’s this blossom stuff? I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”

Nurse: (interjecting with exasperation) “Look, he’s telling you to wash your asshole. It’s a goddamn sewer down there!”

Rimshot.

***

Things change as we get older. If we are lucky to enjoy the grace of aging then we get to bear witness to the slow erasure of our youth as it slowly recedes into the past. Our bodies might betray us with disease and infirmity but hopefully, many of us survive and become a little wiser as we travel toward our inexorable final destination.

Fortunately for my friend, he was able to make some changes in his life. He watches his diet, is exercising more, and now enjoys a happy and healthy life.

Which leads me to feel a little hopeful about my future as I get older. 

I try to watch my diet and make an effort to exercise regularly. 

Still every day I’m confronted by an older dude in the mirror, who stares back at me uncomfortably, bewildered, unsure how in the hell he ended up looking so damn ancient.

Now before you all think that this story is about me giving fashion tips on Depends underwear for men or describing the many glorious wonders of prune juice – you can forget it.

This is not a story about me griping becoming an old fucker – it’s about how I started shaving at thirteen years old.

Because It didn’t seem that long ago when a younger man used to smile back at me in the mirror as I shaved in the morning.

***

It was in the late Fall of 1968, and things were not going well at Casa Bucklin. 

Mom had begun shacking up with a joker whom for shits and giggles I’ll call “Rick.” 

Now, Rick was a salesman for Norelco and he worked out of an office in San Francisco. His job was selling electric shavers and tape recording equipment to the public. And being a consummate manipulator, he was quite good at it too. 

The problem with Rick was he liked to gamble most of his salary away at the local horse racing track. 

Since he was broke most of the time he was unable to pay some of the more important household bills. This stressed out my Mother to no end as he always lied about paying them.

But he never did. 

Usually, he’d make one payment leaving the balance due which pissed off the local vendors. Eventually, the matter would be turned over to some bill collection agency.

Bottom line he was fun to be around as long as someone else was footing the bills.

Exasperated by his somewhat criminal behavior, Mom would periodically throw the lying bastard out of the house, and for brief periods – sanity and peace would prevail.

Somehow, Rick always managed to weasel his way back into our lives. Acting like a dog that just peed on the furniture, he would make heartfelt promises to my Mother which of course he never kept.

And so Rick was allowed to move back in with us until the cycle was repeated. Then there would be a breakup and then the whole damn thing would start over again.

But, Rick was smart. He knew that one of the ways to keep in Mom’s good graces was to bribe me with stuff he had on hand from work. For example, on my twelfth birthday, he gave me a cheap Norelco Office ballpoint pen set which probably cost him nothing.

Matty, my kid brother, was a tough nut for him to crack. He was afraid of Rick and avoided him whenever possible. I think he hid in his closet cause whenever “Uncle Rick” was around he’d vanish into his room. 

Now Matty was a renowned slob and had a lot of crap in his bedroom. I swear to God, his room had so much junk lying around that his room had no corners – just stuff! There were toys, dirty clothes that smelled godawful, dusty furniture cushions, empty bags of Doritos, and an occasional petrified guinea pig or hamster we had thought had escaped and run away. 

Sometimes Matty would go missing for days only to emerge when starvation forced him to join us at the kitchen table.

Anyway, as my thirteenth birthday approached, Rick convinced my Mom that it was time for me to start shaving. After all, I was becoming “A MAN” and it was time for me to begin my initiation into adulthood. 

He had the perfect gift for me he announced one night at dinner – a brand new Norelco electric razor!

Now what he should have offered to get me was a treadmill or one of those gym machines with rotating wooden dowels that women used to sit on to remove cellulite from their fannys and thighs – as I was by that time of my life morbidly obese.

But ya know, treadmills were uncommon back then and a fat-busting contraption for fat asses would have cost him some real money – money he didn’t have.

I received the electric razor with much birthday fanfare. After all, it was a big deal that I was gonna be able to start shaving. 

As I tore off the festive wrapping I noticed that someone had partially removed a sticker from the box lid that said “FACTORY REJECT” but just blew that off in all the excitement.

“Thank you, Rick!” I said before excusing myself from the table.

Quickly waddling down the hallway, I sequestered myself in the family bathroom.  Making sure I had privacy for this sacrosanct moment, I locked the door before tossing the box and instructions irreverently aside. My palms were slick with sweat by the time I plugged the razor into the wall socket.  

“I mean really – how hard could this shaving thing be?” I thought reassuringly. It looked downright easy on all the TV shaving commercials.

My double chins trembled with anticipation as I pressed the start switch to the “on” position of my shaver.

The electric razor let out a tortured groan before starting up and after a few seconds, it began buzzing away like a geriatric bee.

“Uhhhhhh…Zzzzz….uh huh…huhhhh…Zzzzzzz” went the rotating blades as a small cloud of oily smoke began to fill the small room.

Applying the shaver to my cheek I began to vigorously scrub my face only to let out a shriek as the electric demon ripped a sizable patch of peach fuzz from my chin.

Luckily no blood was drawn. 

For the remainder of the uh…” shave,” I gingerly caressed my face with the razor until I had finished the miserable operation.

To complete the Holy Inquisition, I splashed a cheap aftershave on my cheeks causing me to almost pass out from the searing agony of burning flesh.

After that somewhat traumatic experience, I figured when something besides fuzz appeared, I’d use it again.

Sadly the opportunity never arose.

My Mother after giving Rick countless opportunities to get his shit together finally kicked him to the curb for good.

And mysteriously my electric razor disappeared with his exit.