Nicked!

"Oh, ouch. Ouch ouch ouch!"

I stood there, staring into the fogged-up vanity mirror. A razor in one hand, holding up a bath towel with the other, trying to peer through the fog and assess the extent of the damage.

It was impossible, though. Irritably, I threw down the razor and snatched off a piece of toilet paper from the roll. Folded it in half. Applied it to the head. Wait for the the fog to clear.

It was evident in a matter of seconds: a bloody red stain forming in the center of the white tissue, quickly growing in size.

Dammit! "Corb, come here!"

A call from the other room: "What?" In my mind, I could see him, sitting in his favorite chair in the living room, talking to his friends on his favorite online chat site.

"Get over here this instant!" And then, putting on my best Camille. "I'm dying..."

"What, again?" Deep sigh. A groan from the chair as he rises from him it. Then Corb, at the bathroom door. "How are you dying this time?"

"Look." I point to the top of my head, covered in shaving cream, toilet paper, and blood. "I cut myself because I couldn't see a thing in the mirror. Cut myself pretty badly, too. Can you check it out for me?"

Corb sighed. "Bend down." I moved toward him, my head bowed. "Ohhhh...I think I see brain..."

"Corbett!" I snatch my head away from him, back away. "Don't joke like that. How about if my beautiful head is permanently disfigured?"

"I don't know..." Suddenly, a thought. A smile lights up his face. "We'll get you a pretty pink ski cap!"

I frown. "Just get me a band-aid, would you? Ohhhh, this is going to be bleeding for a while...and I have that lunch with Sweet Loretta today at four...how am I going to go there, horribly disfigured like this?"

"Well, we could bandage you up like the Invisible Man..." Corb opened up the medicine cabinet and took out a box of bandaids. "But I don't think we'll need to do that...let me just squeeze some antibiotic onto the gaping wound..."

"I don't need that!"

"Relax, it'll help prevent rabies. Now, one band-aid here...and another band-aid here...and now one more band-aid..."

"Three band-aids?" I frowned and stared at myself in the mirror. "I really am going to look like the invisible man."

"Relax," said Corb, admiring his handiwork in the mirror. "You can take it off in a few hours, and no one will even know anything happened."

###

It wasn't until about five minutes before my visit that I remembered the band-aids. "Oh no," I said, turning to Ashes, who sat next to me in the Stang, secretly fuming about why she wasn't being allowed to drive. "I forgot all about my band-aid!" I glanced into the rea-view mirror. "Is it really noticeable?"

Ashes looked at the band-aid and wrinkled her nose. "Well..."

"Corb said I could take it off in a few hours..." Cautiously, I lift up the edge of the band-aid and start to pull. I take my eyes away from the road to glance into the rear-view mirror again. "Oh, ick."

It was only a glance, but I looked hideous! All I could see were pieces of skin resting underneath the band-aid. "Ashes, do you see..."

Ashes made a face. "Keep the band-aid on, Dad."

Well, it wasn't my first choice, but given what lay beneath, there was no way I was going to expose my pate to Sweet Loretta and the Lady Writers. How anyone could eat Thai food and stare across the table at my gaping wound was beyond me.

All of a sudden, a pretty pink ski cap seemed like a damn good option.

###

"Corb," I said, as soon I returned home, approaching him at his favorite chair, where he was still busy, typing away on his friends. "It's worse than we thought."

Corb looked up and wiggled his toes. His big feet were resting up against the coffee table. "What do you mean?"

"My cut," I said, barely able to hide my anguish. "I lifted up the band-aid before we went into the Thai restaurant, and it looks awful. It's all surrounded by this flaky white skin...I think I'm going to have to keep the band-aid on for a while. And I have a feeling it's going to scar."

"Really?" Corb frowned. "That's weird. Take off the band-aid for moment."

Dramatically, I heaved a sigh and lifted my arm up to pull back the band-aid and reveal my horrible disfigurement. I lowered my head, so that Corb could take a look at the extent of my injury and closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar snort of laughter. I opened my eyes, looked at Corb in surprise. "Why are you laughing?"

"When did you look at your injury?" he asked, still laughing.

"In the car, as I was driving...from the rear-view mirror. Why?"

"That's not scraped-off skin, you moron. It's just the antiobiotic. You needed to wipe it off! Your head is fine."

It was? Quickly, I ran into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Grabbed a napkin and wiped away. Sure enough, my beautiful baldness was back.

Corb's laugher echoed through the apartment. "What did you think? You really were seeing brain?"

Oh, dammit. Ouch, ouch, ouch. That's the pain ouching from my wounded pride, in case you didn't recognize it.

For the record, the razor burn still kind of hurts, even now...

The price one pays for beauty.

Trimmage.

"Dad, can you teach me to shave?"

Now I have to admit, I was kind of surprised by this question. After all our years together, Corb had finally reached puberty!

No, no, no...just kidding. Seriously! Let me start this story again.

Of course, the person asking the question was Theo. And I know, I know, it's a perfectly natural question, one that you expect a son to ask his father.

But here's the deal: Theo's had a little mustache for probably two years. We are from swarthy Greek stock, after all. Even our mustaches have mustaches.

Now, I don't want to give you the impression that he's let his mustache grow, all this time. Seriously, it would have touched the floor by now. However, a few years ago, Josie jumped the fatherly gun and asked her fiance Andrew to buy Theo an electric razor, which he's used ever since. Or, Andrew just up and decided to buy it for him, I don't know. The details are a little foggy, after all these years.

I have to admit, when I found out, it kind of crushed me, just a little. I always saw the act of teaching your son to shave as sort of a fatherly rite of passage, like learning to ride a bike or paying for your son's first hooker.

I remember quite well when my dad taught me to shave. Of course, it involved shaving the hair off my palms, because I jerked off so much.

Just kidding! Wow, tough crowd here.

Seriously, it did deflate me, just a little. A bruise I kind of hid under my shirt sleeves. So, it was a bit of a pick-me-up to hear Thedo ask me for some actual shaving advice.

Why now? Why two years later? Theo's always kept his electric razor at Josie's, you see. And last night, on the car ride home, he started to casually mention that he needed to take a shower that night, because he's gotten to that age where he realizes it's no fun walking around stinking like a sweaty race horse all the time. And, oh, by the way, wouldn't it be great if he could shave at my place?

No problem, says I. I'll just pick up a razor on the way home.

"What do you use?" he asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't like mine, if you're used to electric razors," I said. "I'll get you a nice one that won't ever cut you."

That night, after his shower, he came out of the bathroom, a little sheepish. "So, um, how do I use this thing?" he asked.

I grinned, sensing the rite of passage was at hand.

"Now, this is shaving cream," I said, handing him a green and white can.

The expression on his face said it all, but he felt obliged to add: "I know that, Dad, I'm not a moron."

"Just put it on, smartass."

"How much?"

"Oh, not that much."

Corb stuck his head in the bathroom (how it had become disconnected from his body is beyond me.) "Here's what I do," he said. "Take some shaving cream and place it over your lip and below, on your chin. Then just take your finger and--scrape! Wipe it off your lips."

"Yeah, I don't want to eat it," said Theo.

"Why not? It's edible," said Corb, and placed his head back on his shoulders. Is it, really? I didn't know that.

"Now, I'm going to show you how to do it, using my razor. See, I spread some shaving cream on my face, and then I shave down along the mustache. Oh, and around the cheeks."

"What if I want to shave around my neck?" Theo asked.

"I usually go up, for that."

He held the razor nervously in his hand. "How hard do I press down?" he asked.

"It's not going to cut you, don't worry," I replied. "Just relax and press it down. Gently at first, if you want..." In three seconds, he had completed his lip. "Now, wipe the shaving cream off and see if there's anything left."

He wiped. "Just a little..."

"Shave them off."

"Do I need more shaving cream?" I shook my head. He paused. "Dad, can I do it with my sideburns, too?"

I was kind of surprised by that one. "You want to shave off your sideburns?"

He grinned, sheepishly. "It always hurt when I tried to use the electric razor to shave them off. I didn't like that." He took a swipe with the razor. "This doesn't hurt at all."

Five minutes later, I had a clean-shaven son without sideburns once again. "Well, there you go! Now you're a pro." I looked over at him, just a little proud.

Rather than getting maudlin or anything, we went into separate rooms.

Another rite of passage, checked off that list. It really was a good feeling, too, I have to admit. No more did I have to hide that bruise. Somewhere up above, I felt as if I had earned another badge in the Boy Scout jamboree of life.

Now, the real challenge: saving up money for that first hooker...