Of Razors and Ruin

I'm sure every person on this earth has, between the ages of 3 and 8, cut themselves up with Mom's Razor in the bathroom after being told, "Never touch that. It will cut you."
Some of us cut our fingers or our knees or whatever else seemed to need a shave. Well, when I was 6, I decided to shave, thinking "No one will know," and taking the skin off my legs. I screemed, giving myself away, of course, because Dad came then
He said, "Go to my room," and I couldn't dress or have a band-aid until I bent over and received 'two' with the shoe. That's a whipping I'll never forget. (From then on, before I disobeyed, I made sure I had pants on).

My Mom, at eight, was more creative with the bathroom razor.
She climbed onto the vanity top, looked in the mirror and shaved her eyebrows off. Both of them. She didn't stop at one. Then she realized how strange it looked and thought, "Oh, dear!"
Her family were playing cards and dominoes in the lounge and Mom came in with her hair parted over her forehead where her eyebrows should have been. She sat down at the coffee table, head down, pretending to study the board.
Her Mom said, "Elise, what's wrong?"
At first, they couldn't put their finger on exactly what was the matter with her face. Then her sisters began to laugh.
Mom began to cry. "I can't go back to boarding school. Please don't make me!"
But, the year had started and she went.

My Mom knew a girl in school who plucked her eyelashes, out of habit. Like biting nails. And each time a new one grew in, out it came.

I don't know if there's a moral to those stories, but I hope they make you smile. When Mom told us, we were on the floor, so I wanted to share it.

I have to go to bed.

~Taz~