I remember as a kid watching my grandfather shave. It seemed like magic to me. He would reach into his vanity, remove his porcelain mug, brush, and now what I know to be, a DE razor and start to get ready. The smell always stuck with me as he would create this magical concoction that would produce this frothy lather. He would proceed to paint his face in it and spend the next 15 to 20 minutes getting the perfect "church" shave. He would finish with vintage old spice after shave and be done. These are some of my clearest and earliest memories of my grandfather.
Flash Forward to When I Met My When we met he told me he was, and I quote, a "traditional wet shave enthusiast", I had no freaking idea what he was talking about. I smiled politely, said "oh that's nice dear" and went on with our conversation. The first time I went over his house I began to notice the variety of antique Avon bottles scattered about the house. (my mother had also been "gifted" these little gems from her great aunt over the years. I as a young and quite stupid child felt the need to open one. I can only compare the cologne inside to that of a gentle mixture of cat ****, insecticide, with a gentle and lilting note of toilet bowl cleaner. So Pro tip: pretty bottles, cologne that should never be brought near open flame or living tissue) When I asked to use his restroom I was greeted by two hanging leather straps. As an avid watcher of Criminal Minds, this is NEVER a good first impression if left unexplained.
I immediately backed out slowly and stared at him. Suddenly he realized and stated "wait! Those aren't what you think!" and slammed open the bathroom closet. Gentlemen of B&B,if you have not amply prepped a female for your "shave den" it can be...what's the word I'm looking for....down right flabbergasting?! There before me were three shelves of razors, bottles, tubs of things, toothpaste looking tubes of things, and rows of bottles of various sizes and degrees of stink or after shave as I guess they are called (some I like (ie nomad) others should be thrown into Mordor (ie "The Veg")). Then he took down this wooden box. Now at this point, dear readers I should inform you of my love of cigars. Cheap, fine, cuban, local, I don't care I'll smoke it, I love em. Well my darling fiancé takes down this wooden box and on the top it reads "fine cigars" and my heart stops, my palms sweat, and I get excited as he opens the box to reveal.............ten straight razors. I sit down on the floor promptly and say "oh.....cool" and realize this is a humidor that he has "abused" for his insane addiction, I am dating a cigar abusing, leather strap hanging, razor wielding Sweeny Todd
Our relationship continues and eventually we move in together. Now I'll be the first to admit we ladies come with a lot of accoutrement but I pride myself on coming with about half the normal amount. So I walk into the bathroom and open the "Ark of the Gillette" again and stare haplessly. Finally I walk back out "where should I put my stuff in there?" "where in there exactly do you mean?" is my 'brain surgeons' reply. "the closet. You can't seriously need all..." and I wave my hands in a crazy fashion at the three shelves. Why? Why did I do that? Ladies if you are not prepared for the ACTUAL reason why he really needs "all that stuff" for the love of all that is holy don't ask. My fiancé proceeded to give my a two hour tutorial on what? Honestly I couldn't tell you...about 30 minutes in he began to sounds like the teacher from The Peanuts *WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP*. If your curious between me finally walking in and "acquisitioning" (pillage, plunder, small army, armada, and Calvary were needed) space, and my glazed over look during his tutorial my fiancé finally gave up talking about it and his shave routine went behind closed doors. I thanked my lucky stars and went about my life.
One morning I stumbled downstairs, poured myself a coffee (cream only, but I'll leave that rant to a different thread) and went to find the couch. My fiancé must not have realized the door was open because there he was beginning his shaving routine, and it hit me: the smell I hadn't been around since my grandfather, and I froze. As he began to lather and shave I snuck behind him and sat down to watch. Slowly the image of my grandfather faded and my fiancé became THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE! As he used his DE I began to feel guilty for not listening to everything he had ever told me and when he was done I got to run my hands over the first BBS shave I ever truly appreciated.
So another week went by and I stopped giving him crap and began watching him closer. One night during a touch up shave something over took me and I uttered "teach me" and he mid WTG stroke muttered "teach you what?" I gave it one beat and made sure the blade was safely away from any part of his skin and stated "teach me to shave like you." The man nearly dropped his razor into the sink as he stammered "wh..wh..what?" "teach me to.." "YES...SURE OF COURSE!" I can't even remember if he finished his shave at that point before he was elbow deep in his den pulling out his creams and after shaves that leant themselves to the more feminine air. He also handed me a vintage Gillette Aristocrat with Astra SP blade, a Shavemac silver tip brush and bowl, and a tub of TOBS grapefruit shaving cream. He had a grin on him like he was about to drive a new car as he opened the TOBS and let me smell. I have to admit, holy schnikes it smelt good!!!! Like almost edible good, a thought I shared with my now dewey eyed man, who I swear to God replied "oh I know, I licked the brush once to see if it tasted as good as it smelled....not so much." and without missing a beat begins to explain lathering. " WTH?! I respond I was kidding? You ate this?" he just grins at me. *face palm* "continue" I finally muster after a moment.
Now here is where I will admit I got the cheat start, my fiancé did my first lather in the mug for me. He wanted me to focus on getting the angle and pressure right. He handed me the frothy mug and instructed me on proper lathering technique ending in "painting my legs" like Tom sawyer himself. So it turns out I was so terrified of my Mach III that the pressure and angle thing weren't too hard to figure out and before you know it I was through two nick/weeper free WTG passes. I felt like I had conquered!! I was woman, hear me roar! Over the next couple of days I mastered AGT and have now achieved BBS! I am also fully addicted and I am starting my own "boutique". (den is so manly to me so I made it pretty) So it turns out my "crazy blade wielding Sweeny Todd" of on to something and has made a convert out of this dame!!
Flash Forward to When I Met My When we met he told me he was, and I quote, a "traditional wet shave enthusiast", I had no freaking idea what he was talking about. I smiled politely, said "oh that's nice dear" and went on with our conversation. The first time I went over his house I began to notice the variety of antique Avon bottles scattered about the house. (my mother had also been "gifted" these little gems from her great aunt over the years. I as a young and quite stupid child felt the need to open one. I can only compare the cologne inside to that of a gentle mixture of cat ****, insecticide, with a gentle and lilting note of toilet bowl cleaner. So Pro tip: pretty bottles, cologne that should never be brought near open flame or living tissue) When I asked to use his restroom I was greeted by two hanging leather straps. As an avid watcher of Criminal Minds, this is NEVER a good first impression if left unexplained.
I immediately backed out slowly and stared at him. Suddenly he realized and stated "wait! Those aren't what you think!" and slammed open the bathroom closet. Gentlemen of B&B,if you have not amply prepped a female for your "shave den" it can be...what's the word I'm looking for....down right flabbergasting?! There before me were three shelves of razors, bottles, tubs of things, toothpaste looking tubes of things, and rows of bottles of various sizes and degrees of stink or after shave as I guess they are called (some I like (ie nomad) others should be thrown into Mordor (ie "The Veg")). Then he took down this wooden box. Now at this point, dear readers I should inform you of my love of cigars. Cheap, fine, cuban, local, I don't care I'll smoke it, I love em. Well my darling fiancé takes down this wooden box and on the top it reads "fine cigars" and my heart stops, my palms sweat, and I get excited as he opens the box to reveal.............ten straight razors. I sit down on the floor promptly and say "oh.....cool" and realize this is a humidor that he has "abused" for his insane addiction, I am dating a cigar abusing, leather strap hanging, razor wielding Sweeny Todd
Our relationship continues and eventually we move in together. Now I'll be the first to admit we ladies come with a lot of accoutrement but I pride myself on coming with about half the normal amount. So I walk into the bathroom and open the "Ark of the Gillette" again and stare haplessly. Finally I walk back out "where should I put my stuff in there?" "where in there exactly do you mean?" is my 'brain surgeons' reply. "the closet. You can't seriously need all..." and I wave my hands in a crazy fashion at the three shelves. Why? Why did I do that? Ladies if you are not prepared for the ACTUAL reason why he really needs "all that stuff" for the love of all that is holy don't ask. My fiancé proceeded to give my a two hour tutorial on what? Honestly I couldn't tell you...about 30 minutes in he began to sounds like the teacher from The Peanuts *WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP*. If your curious between me finally walking in and "acquisitioning" (pillage, plunder, small army, armada, and Calvary were needed) space, and my glazed over look during his tutorial my fiancé finally gave up talking about it and his shave routine went behind closed doors. I thanked my lucky stars and went about my life.
One morning I stumbled downstairs, poured myself a coffee (cream only, but I'll leave that rant to a different thread) and went to find the couch. My fiancé must not have realized the door was open because there he was beginning his shaving routine, and it hit me: the smell I hadn't been around since my grandfather, and I froze. As he began to lather and shave I snuck behind him and sat down to watch. Slowly the image of my grandfather faded and my fiancé became THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE! As he used his DE I began to feel guilty for not listening to everything he had ever told me and when he was done I got to run my hands over the first BBS shave I ever truly appreciated.
So another week went by and I stopped giving him crap and began watching him closer. One night during a touch up shave something over took me and I uttered "teach me" and he mid WTG stroke muttered "teach you what?" I gave it one beat and made sure the blade was safely away from any part of his skin and stated "teach me to shave like you." The man nearly dropped his razor into the sink as he stammered "wh..wh..what?" "teach me to.." "YES...SURE OF COURSE!" I can't even remember if he finished his shave at that point before he was elbow deep in his den pulling out his creams and after shaves that leant themselves to the more feminine air. He also handed me a vintage Gillette Aristocrat with Astra SP blade, a Shavemac silver tip brush and bowl, and a tub of TOBS grapefruit shaving cream. He had a grin on him like he was about to drive a new car as he opened the TOBS and let me smell. I have to admit, holy schnikes it smelt good!!!! Like almost edible good, a thought I shared with my now dewey eyed man, who I swear to God replied "oh I know, I licked the brush once to see if it tasted as good as it smelled....not so much." and without missing a beat begins to explain lathering. " WTH?! I respond I was kidding? You ate this?" he just grins at me. *face palm* "continue" I finally muster after a moment.
Now here is where I will admit I got the cheat start, my fiancé did my first lather in the mug for me. He wanted me to focus on getting the angle and pressure right. He handed me the frothy mug and instructed me on proper lathering technique ending in "painting my legs" like Tom sawyer himself. So it turns out I was so terrified of my Mach III that the pressure and angle thing weren't too hard to figure out and before you know it I was through two nick/weeper free WTG passes. I felt like I had conquered!! I was woman, hear me roar! Over the next couple of days I mastered AGT and have now achieved BBS! I am also fully addicted and I am starting my own "boutique". (den is so manly to me so I made it pretty) So it turns out my "crazy blade wielding Sweeny Todd" of on to something and has made a convert out of this dame!!
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