Daddy’s Razor

I did not need fourteen used tooth brushes. But, there they were–hidden behind three dried-up bottles of nail polish and thirty-five small bottles of shampoo, hair-conditioner, and body lotion. (All collected from hotel rooms over the last fifteen years) The fourteen toothbrushes clearly proved I had resisted all desires I had ever had to scrub the bathroom tile grout.

An unexpected joy resulted from my cleaning the bathroom cabinet. I discovered my father’s old razor. I paused in my cleaning frenzy and reflected on those long-ago Sunday mornings when I would watch Daddy lather up and shave before church. Sometimes a small nick required him to wear a small patch of toilet paper until time to leave the house.

An unpleasant experience was combining the last remaining quarter inch of liquid hand soap from five different bottles into one bottle. It did not produce a satisfactory product. The brownish, purple-green colored glob smelled like mud and did not foam.

As a result of my cleaning, I have shortened the time spent getting ready for my day. Best of all, I am sure I always use the right tooth brush. (In my defense–some of the tooth brushes could have been left by grandchildren….)



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