We just got back from the gym, and I have to say that going to the gym on a Saturday is an odd beast. It makes you wonder about the other people who are there, and I'm sure they were wondering about us. Why the hell would people go to the gym on Saturday? I mean, we had a reason and a good one, but why were the just-past-middle-age-sisterhood-of-the-traveling-pantsers there? And the I'm-not-balding-and-neither-is-my-son guy? Most of the other people there were foreigners to us, so I bet they weren't used to us being there on a Saturday midday.
All of that aside, we had a great session on the treadmill/dumbbells and we feel great for having gone. I have to say, unless your job involves running from predators and chasing prey, going to the gym is somewhere between advisable and necessary for today's modern human.
Back to the blade. I woke up this morning with one thought in my head: get a straight razor. There wasn't a dream associated with it or a song, just the thought that I had to get it. So I Ebayed and called a few antique shops and picked one up for less than a Jackson. I'm cleaning it up and polishing it with our present from Becky's dad (link), but I haven't used it on my face yet. I have to say, I'm rather careful about what is allowed to drag across the old mug. Sensitive skin and all.
Anyro', it's Saturday and I am wasting time posting a blog. Count yrselves lucky.
1 comment:
Straight razors are scary. Good luck with that and be careful.
And don't let Becky watch Eastern Promises now that you have one of those things around.
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