Tuesday, December 20, 2005

There is something about watching a man shave. Sitting on the hamper in my parent's bathroom, watching Dad shave, shaving soap dabbed on my nose from the tip of a old fashioned shaving brush. Standing next to the man I adore, watching in the mirror as he stretches his chin up, running the electric shaver up and down over his neck. Someday I suppose I'll be watching my son shave those little hairs over the lip which reveal he is changing into a man... a man who will have a spouse, and maybe a child closely watch him shave someday.

I guess it seems like such an intimate moment, mundane and yet so familial. Despite spending so much time together in the last month, in ways that revealed so many personal and private details, watching mr. xxx shave a few mornings back seemed to solidify something deep inside me. This relationship is real. Common interests, mutual delight, and now a step into that familiarity with the simplest of moments. I know the expression on his face when he's bored. I know the tip of a hat on his head. I know the lay of the fine lines around his eyes, which expressions will release them. And I know the speed and stroke of a blade along his cheekbone, the hum of his brand of razor, and the feel of his skin recently smoothed.

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