| rev:text
| - I am pretty lazy about shaving, meaning I only shave a couple of times a week and on special occasions. Fortunately I have been blessed with (1) a job in a casual work environment which allows me to wear several days' stubble without anyone raising an eyebrow, and (2) a very light beard that even after a week remains manageable.
Perhaps it's because I so dislike the shaving routine that the idea of having someone actually do the shave for me was appealing. I had long flirted with the idea of paying for a professional shave if for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity. On previous trips to Vegas I had noticed a The Art of Shaving storefront in the odd mall that connects the Mandalay Bay to the Luxor (officially called, "The Shoppes at Mandalay Bay"). So, with another trip coming up in a matter of weeks I resolved to actually treat myself to a professional shave.
But first I was going to make sure I got my money's worth--which meant a moratorium on all shaving for at least three weeks. Not as easy as it sounds because as I discovered, at one week my light beard is manageable, but by week two it just looks like blotchy pubic hair.
Gross. Who wants to see that?
Certainly not my wife who complained bitterly about my new meth addict on-the-run look. I considered abandoning the plan several times, but held out.
Must. Get. My. Money's. Worth.
When I arrived in Vegas I made an appointment for my shave. I arrived at the designated time and was seated by the late-50s something gentleman who would soon have me leaning back in a chair, all lathered up, with a straight edge in his hand.
I was giddy with excitement.
We made some small talk and while we were visiting, dude pulls out electric clippers and starts shaving my weeks of work. My mind is racing. "No, no, no. This isn't what I had in mind." But I kept my mouth shut. I wanted my man to think I had been there many times before. "Be cool, be cool."
Once my beard was back to what I guess was a shavable length, the actual shave got underway.
First a hot towel and some pre-shave oil.
Then the shaving cream, warm and minty. Oh so good!
And then the shave itself, which went remarkably quickly--too quickly. I really wanted to savor the experience.
Finally, another hot towel, a cold towel, some after shave. Ahhhh, this is luxury!
And then I was done. $55 + $10 tip.
Excited, despite the electric clippers and speed of the actual shave, I beelined back to my hotel room to inspect my freshly shorn face. Surely I would be more handsome than ever!
Unfortunately, as they say, the mirror doesn't lie and the truth the mirror shared with me was that I had received kind of a crappy shave. A $65 crappy shave. There were areas that had simply been missed including very noticeable spots such as, oh, I don't know, ON MY FACE!!!
I briefly considered going back down and asking for the job to be finished, but I had a dinner commitment and couldn't risk the chance of being late. Dismayed I pulled out my travel can of Barbasol and my cheap double edged razor and...
sadly...
defeatedly...
finished the job myself.
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