I have a lot of struggles. Especially lately. Even shaving, something I have been doing without my mother’s permission since the fifth grade isn’t the easiest for me. It’s really not that hard either. You just take a razor and try to not stab yourself in the leg and create gruesome gashes on your legs. The end result is supposed to feel like baby dolphins. “What is that? Is that your leg or an aquatic mammal? I can’t tell!!”
Unfortunately, there was blood spilled the last time I tried to shave. It was Pyscho worthy.
I was shaving as usual but sort of looking away from the task at hand. And, well, I tilted the razor sideways and created a 4-5 inch-long gash.
I didn’t realize what I had done until I was already bleeding. I don’t know if you have ever shaved or had the pleasure of cutting yourself while shaving but those cuts DO NOT STOP BLEEDING. I thought I was going to have to go to the local hospital and have a blood transfusion.
After I put ten band-aids on it, it finally seemed to stop bleeding. I took them off to see the damage and it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever seen but it also wasn’t making me particularly happy. As I got ready to go out, I tried to think of more interesting stories for the scratch than “I cut myself by accident because I was not paying attention to the orientation of the razor blade as I haphazardly ran it over my leg”. I came up with a few but they all seemed too extreme to pass as an actual explanation.
Anyway, I decided that I didn’t care that I had a huge, gnarly scratch on my leg and wore shorts that proudly showed off my injury.
I took a trip to Wal-Mart with a friend which was maybe a mistake in and of itself. Nevertheless, we were there to pick up a few essentials. As we picked up our stuff and headed to the cashier, a bad feeling built up in my aura (I don’t know if this is spiritually possible, a yogi will have to tell me). I looked at the cashier and she looked at me very judgmentally.
Me: “I was shaving. I am just sort of a failure. I need help.”
Employee: “Oh, do you need help?”
Now, I don’t know exactly what sort of help she was implying but from her tone, I deduced that she either thought I was slightly insane or just really stupid.
I’ve never felt so bad about myself at a Wal-Mart before.