The armpit: an efficient and functional part of the body our American culture ruined. We anti-perspire it. We deodorize it. We shave it. It’s a lot of work against nature.
Shaving is tricky. Shaving with low vision can be an ordeal, a lesson in patience, a measure twice cut once kind of affair. There’s always work to be done, always hair left standing.
I put a lot of thought into this–shocking, I know. I tried different soaps, creams, razors. Even no soap.
I have limits. I won’t wax, not appealing. The impermanent solution leaves an in-between time to let the hair grow back to a quarter-inch again before ripping it out from its roots, on a regular basis. No thanks.
How do I shave? I use the “sign of the cross” approach to clear the land, moving my razor Father-Son-Holy-Spirit, up down left right. I wish to snag every last deviled hair, but I assume I won’t.
I peek at my right pit with my right eye for stragglers. I can’t cheat on the left side, my blind side. Also, I noticed dry hair is easy to feel against my skin, but wet hair in the shower, not so much. When I get sick of checking, I give up.
I may be making a silent fashion statement when I wear sleeveless shirts, but at least I don’t have a mustache to miss. Happy Shaving.