Rant #2,749: The Hair On My Chinny Chin Chin

How was your Columbus Day?
 
Or is it Indigenous Peoples’ Day?
 
Or how about Coming Out Day?
 
Or what about International Day of the Girl?
 
I just find it so funny that since so many people are scorned by honoring Christopher Columbus, they pile on special days to kind of thwart the reach of the actual holiday;, to take the focus off of the explorer and place it on other things.
 
If Columbus did what he was said to have done, then the indigenous people did pretty; much the same thing with other indigenous people that were in their way: search, conquer and destroy.
 
Weaker tribes were raped, pillaged and destroyed to make way for stronger tribes, so they are far from the innocents some people are making them out to be.
 
And as far as the two other supposed “holidays,” as usual, it is ALL political, which makes these two supposed special celebrations laughable.
 
I guess I personally need to laugh, but I can say that I think at this point in time, we all need to chuckle a bit.
 
I had a good chuckle the other day, a really good one, and it all revolved around something that I hate to do.
 
I needed to shave the other day, and since I use an electric razor, I got mine ready; it was all charged up and ready to go.
 
I cleaned it out, and then put it on.
 
But it would not go on.
 
It appeared to be dead.
 
I took out from the bathroom cabinet an older, similar razor that I had replaced with this newer one, and tried it, and it was dead too.
 
What was I going to do?
 
I did everything I could to get these things going, but to no avail.
 
Then I remembered something.
 
After my father passed away last year, my mother was cleaning out his drawers, and she offered me many things, including jewelry and clothing.
 
I turned her down—I really didn’t feel the need to take this stuff—and she got rid of most of it, whether through my sister or she simply dumped some of it.
 
The one thing I did take from her was a mysterious gadget that was an electric razor, mysterious because it was a razor from another time.
 
I took it from her, more out of curiosity than anything else.
 
My mother told me that evidently, my father got this razor when he was in the service, bought by his mom, my paternal grandmother for him, but he had never used it,
 
Never.
 
It was stuffed in a drawer, and since my father was in the Korean War, it sat in a drawer, unused, for about 70 years.

 
As you can see from the photos, it is a Shavex, a brand that no longer exists to my knowledge, and it is a nice looking shaver, in its own carrying case, but one from another age.
 
Well, I was desperate, so I figured that I might as well try it … I mean, the possibility of it even working more than 70 years after the fact was scant, but when you have no alternative, you will try anything,
 
I took the shaver out of its box, and the weight of it was incredible.
 
It felt like I was holding a brick in my hand, as it weighed probably three or four times what today’s electric razors weigh.

 
I plugged it in the wall, and VOILA!—it went on, producing a buzz that could wake up the dead.
 
And I put it to my face, and it worked!
 
And the shave it gave me was … second to none! 
 
Within five minutes, I was done.
 
Again, this 70-year-old razor had never been used by my father, who much preferred to use a real blade than an electric razor, even toward the end of his life when he barely had strength to shave.
 
And this 70-year-old razor put to shame its younger cousins, where one lasted for about two years and the other, newer one lasted just six months.
 
Now, do I need a new razor or do I not need a new razor?
 
I recharged the newer razor one more time, and I will see if it will work the next time around.
 
If not, I will go back to the Shavex razor, because even though the razor is a septuagenarian, I know it will do the job ... or maybe because it is a septuagenarian, I know it will do the job.
 
Sure, I need a new razor, but somehow, I think that once again, my father has a hand in all of this, and he had a big laugh in heaven when he was looking down at me scrambling to find a razor.
 
Wacky, weird … I don’t know what more I can say about this, but I do thank my paternal grandmother for purchasing this razor for my father 70 years ago … little did she know that her future grandson, and not her son, would be using this thing.
 
Maybe she is having a good laugh in heaven, too.