Not too long ago I discovered my wife's been using my razor to shave her various ladyparts. I don't care all that much -- we've been together so long, and shared so many things more squeamish individuals would find horrifying, and anyway it doesn't matter much to me whether she's hairy wherever. I just switch out my razor when it's getting dull, however long that takes, and if it's faster because someone is stealing cycles, no big deal.

Until two weeks ago when I found myself forced to send my lovely wife the following e-mail message:

By the way: I know I've done some bad things over the years and hurt you
many times. But I'd like to say that we are now officially even thanks to
the shave I was forced to perform on my face this morning with my razor
you've been using. Holy cow, it hurt so bad.

Being out of new cartridges for my wildly expensive Gillette Supernova Seventeen Blade Shavzor Supersystem or whatever the hell it's called -- said cartridges being the most shoplifted item in the known universe due to the incredible price markup of 6.022 × 10²³ percent -- I simply stopped shaving.

This experiment ended two days ago when my wife, having finally saved up enough money, bought new cartridges. At that point I did not have what anyone would call a beard. At best I looked like one of those "we don't need no steenkin batches" guys. And my face itched.

When I see guys with really great beards I am envious. But I can't seem to manage it.