I hate shaving. It’s socially encouraged facial mutilation for the 99% of people that don’t put time, money, and labourious effort into a proper shave. I taught myself how to do it rather than accept my father’s offer to teach me—confessing that I had gone through puberty was too much for me to bear at the time, perhaps. Given a sharp piece of metal and no prior knowledge of the craft, I wasn’t very good at it then and I’m still not now.
When I started looking into improving my tactics, I realised shaving and my sophomore math teacher had a common trait: I don’t just hate it, I love hating it. By investing in a razor that is 30+ years old and studying ways not to gouge my face, I was making the game of defying defeat enjoyable. And, as with sophomore math, the process worked.
Soon, for the ultimate high, I plan to shave my math teacher and not fail with respect to both parties. That may not be a good idea so soon after seeing Sweeney Todd, though…