Sunday morning I strolled in Paradise sporting a shave worthy of an angle. Perhaps it was the combination of wet shaving products that produced my perfect shave, or the Mozart string quartet CD playing in the background that brushed the final sheen.
Perhaps it was one of those occasions in life when everything works in perfect harmony.
During the the shower, the Georgetown scuttle kept my badger brush wet and warm. Then came the lathering ritual in the scuttle after the shower, using Taylor of Old Bond Street Rose shave cream. The lather was warm and rich — and a long way from the days of shaving with cold water in my helmet, a can of shave cream and a merciless plastic disposable razor that seemed deadlier than a sniper in the jungles of Vietnam.
During the shave Sunday, I used a large coffee mug as a lid for the scuttle to keep my brush and lather warmer.
These days, because of an injury to my left hand — I switch hands with the straight — I can manage a straight razor for one pass only, and only on Sunday, finishing with my double edge safety razor. The rest of the week I also have to use a double edge.
The razor glided on my face as if on a bed of silk, the cutting sound playing counterpoint to the Mozart. A touch of witch hazel followed by shave balm and a splash of Trumper's Spanish Leather aftershave rounded out a ritual that must have taken over an hour — and two Mozart strings quartets back to back.
Will I be able to repeat that shave again? Who knows? Perhaps another Sunday morning when the angle blinks at me.
Regards,
Obie
