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| - Tired and not just a tad disgusted with paying five hard-earned U.S. dollars for each disposable, five-bladed, nearly-instantly dull cartridges, I drove up to Beachwood, far, far from the wooded copse in which our cottage is nestled, for the sole purpose of leaving some of that cash money money at The Art of Shaving. Then, I stood in line (or queued up, as you will) to purchase a fine, balanced, German double-sided (or safety, as you will) razor.
"Oh, yeah. We're sold out."
But.
"Father's Day."
But. That was... ten days ago?
"Yeah. Sold out."
The Art of Re-Stocking? The Art of Customer Service? The Art of Taking My Name and Calling Me When You ARE Re-Stocked? (Please visit my review of Dan Addleman's fabulous Imperial Shaving on the Square in Medina. Perhaps, if you know someone who professes not merely to know shaving, but to be an artist in same, you could have them visit Imperial Shaving, and then they might understand why I will only shop there, now and forever.)
"Of the Seven Dwarfs, the only one who shaved was Dopey. That should tell us something about the wisdom of shaving."
Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All
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