Two Things That Don’t Go Together: 24 year Olds and Razors (Apparently)

Sometimes being a girl is hard. Sure, there are some perks like doing my hair, nails and going shopping (when I can find clothes that fit me). Other times I don’t want to do any of that. I won’t lie; in the summer (especially when I worked at the pool) there would be days I would go without showering. Why? Because I can. I am woman hear me roar! No? That saying doesn’t work here? Ugh.

Shaving your legs is also apparently hard. You would think after 24 years I would have that figured out. Nope. Just another reason being a grown up is slapping me in the face and I just smile every time it does and laugh because these are moments where I love my life and I would not do anything to change it.

I shower at night because I need more beauty sleep in the morning. I thrive off of beauty sleep. What girl doesn’t? I started the shower on a Tuesday night and made sure I started it a littler colder than usual because I knew I had to do the duty of shaving my legs. My rather minuscule water heater in my apartment can’t make more than a 10-minute hot shower, its pretty unfortunate. I sighed as I entered the shower thinking “Damn, sometimes being a girl really sucks.”

So, somewhere between Jake Owen telling me he couldn’t be alone with me and washing the conditioner out of my hair, I looked down and saw a pool of blood. Shit. When I say a pool of blood, I mean like a crime scene pool of blood. This was like the ‘I cut myself shaving but didn’t feel it’ type of cut. It was clearly coming from the left leg so I inspected it and thought “Meh. Pretty puny of a cut no big deal.” I finished up in the shower and it was still bleeding like I had murdered someone with my BiC Soleil disposable razor.

Sweet baby Jesus! There was a lot of blood. Now, how was I going to execute getting out of the shower? I grabbed my towel, dried off my hair and looked over and saw my other towel across the bathroom. Sweet. Just my luck. I was still bleeding husker red all over the white tub making a huge mess. Excellent, I had just added cleaning the bathroom to my list of things to do on a Tuesday night.

I grabbed some toilet paper and started to apply pressure. It was clear that I could not just put a band aide on and go about my night. The first person that came to mind throughout all this was my friend Abby. She always cuts herself shaving so she would enjoy this. However, I was in no shape to text her. By this time, I had blood all over both feet, the tub and now parts of the toilet. How in the hell does this happen from one puny little cut! This was how I was going to die. Not from cancer but from shaving my stupid legs!

15 minutes goes by, I am still bleeding. I start to multi task and I am now cleaning up the shower and applying pressure. I am pretty proud of myself. No band aides have yet have been applied. I grab my phone and send a text to Abby. Abby, being my intelligent friend who is in pharmacy school replies back to my rather dramatic text and tells me to lift my leg in the air above my heart. DUH! I used to be a lifeguard and had learned that in CPR/First aide I should have known that. Okay, Okay, Okay. How the hell am I going to do that? Picture this one: I grab even more toilet paper (I probably used up at least half a roll this night) and go into my bedroom. Take note that I am in my towel wrap. I lie on the floor ever so gracefully and put my leg in the air applying pressure. Again, I think to myself, yup, this is how I die. Loss of blood. Death by razor. After a while I check it, the blood has lessened so I sit up and throw a band aide on.

Thank fucking goodness I can finally comb my hair and put some clothes on. I spend the next couple of minuets getting my shit together and thinking about what a hot mess my life is. I head to my bedroom to get some clothes and finally I can finish up my things for the night. Oh, no, my bloody ankle has a mind of its own. As I’m stepping over blankets, clothes and pillows (it was like playing hot lava) I feel something. Yup. Blood. I look down and think SHIT and run back to the bathroom perfectly missing and winning at hot lava. Score.

I got back to the bathroom but my rug had not survived. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Abby. I of course shared a few choice words. Back to laying on the floor it was. At this point it had almost been an hour since the incident. I lay there for another 10 minutes and I am not really sure that was even doing anything! I dug around in my bathroom and was able to find gauze and tape and I wrapped several layers or that and then secured it with a giant band aide. After two hours, the blood had finally stopped. This is when I really should have poured myself a glass of wine. Why did I not think of that earlier? What a perfect reason to drink wine! Not that I NEED a reason…

I seem to always find myself in strange situations like this and I’m not really sure why. I’m beginning to think it’s because I handle them well or maybe it’s because I usually just laugh about it. As this was happening, I was just laying on the floor texting Abby laughing. While I was lying there, I texted her saying she would die if she could see me. I think that if anyone could have, they would have shared a good laugh. Hopefully, since you were not there, reading it gave you the same affect 🙂

My piece of advice: Watch out for those disposable razors – they’ll get ya!

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