“You can’t have anymore wine until you shave your junk. And make sure you use the dry shave razor they gave you.”.
The wine in question was about half a bottle, enough to calm the heart but not unsteady the hand. The razor was a blue disposable number that was intended to be used dry, but not engineered in any way to make that feasible. I tried a practice swipe near my hip bone and it removed a patch of skin, while somehow leaving the hair in place.
“Fuck this, I’m getting wet and using a five blade razor that has earned my trust”
My wife loves me but is a librarian and a slave to the rule of law, she protested
“Why would they give you a special razor if it was unnecessary or dangerous?”
I am untrusting at the best of times, and this was not the best of times
“ I don’t know, perhaps as a test of wisdom, where if I refuse I have proven myself sane enough to surrender my fertility? Or it could be a ploy to get me to castrate myself and spare the taxpayer the cost of my neutering?”
While said in jest, both options were less absurd than dry-flaying my balls with the dollar store potato peeler provided, so I lathered up and shaved myself taint to navel. I was dolphin smooth and beyond reproach. The dry razor was a lie, I hoped my special pill was better at its job. Tomorrow I am unmade