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| - I've walked past this place a few dozen times, never having any idea of its existence. Then, leaving the farmer's market, I noticed the sign. (A kind woman, noticing that ever-present look of confusion on my face simply said, "It's in the basement." That's all I needed to know, and now I'm able to shave, properly. It was almost too easy.)
It's astonishing, really, to see a shop that is this perfect, this well-organized, with so much room, so many options, the highest level of service, out here in Mrs. Falbo's Tiny Town. I mean, Medina. Walls of fine, imported product. Display cases filled with the most tempting of straight and safety razors. What may be North America's single largest selection of shaving brushes, all lined up in formation, prepared to conquer your bewhiskered face. They will soon have a barber shop, attached to the retail facility, and I will some day pamper myself with someone else taking a whack at my ugly mug. I may even ask them to shave it.
Close readers of my reviews will know that I really, really tried to buy a razor at another store and was turned away. For about twenty percent or so less, I now own the perfect long-handled razor, carefully crafted in Germany yet willing to stoop so low as to shave my ancient face. And pre-shave oil. And brush soap. (I nearly bought the barber's chair; no one offered to shave FOR me, so that was out.)
"The beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder."
-- Virginia Woolf
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