For example, when your most beloved asks you to give him a shave. With a straight razor. In general, he's reasonably sane, and he's certainly seen ample proof of my uncoordinated ways, so I don't know why, a couple of times a year, he thinks this is a good idea.
Maybe the brush with death makes him feel more alive. Maybe it makes him love life again, and resolve to reach out and carpe diem with all his strength.
Maybe he harbours a secret death wish.
Maybe he's a masochist, and every fumbling cut makes him shudder with pleasure.
Anyway, I lathered him up and hacked away, removing impressive amounts of bristles, and only minimal amounts of face. Nose and lips remain intact. Eventually my nerve broke and I had to run away so he could do the fine details.
On another topic, am I the only person in the world who finds stockings stressful? It's like voluntarily putting your legs into the maw of an anaconda. And just when I've gotten the buggers into a vaguely comfortable configuration, my peanut-sized bladder strikes and I have to undo all my good work. I made the mistake of buying "control-top" stockings once. It took me about an hour to wrestle them onto my legs, where they proceeded to cut off the circulation to the lower half of my body. I was wearing them for a job interview - once the interview was over I raced to the nearest public toilets and ripped the stockings off, then drove home in bare-legged comfort.
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