I Used My Sister's Razor Once And Now I Get Catcalled

It hit me after my sister made me watch The Notebook during our annual brother-sister movie weekend. I felt a tear bubble up to the surface of my left eye, but I was quick to realize it before anyone noticed. I ran to the bathroom and felt this wave of shame override me. This was the first time I had cried (well, semi-cried) in my adult life. I am pretty sure it was because I used my sister’s razor that one time.

I should have noticed something was off—it was pink and shaped like an expensive toothbrush. It had 47 blades and didn't hurt at all to use. It actually made my skin better, so it was obviously not made for masculine men like myself. Big Shaving corporations know this is a potential outcome. That is why they made sure to have gender-specific razors, but I am afraid it is too late for me. I have been different ever since.

I did not want to believe it, but the morning after, as I was heading to work where I tame wolves for a living, I got catcalled by a construction worker. I was wearing suspenders with my long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt, paired with a leather jacket and Timberlands. The back of my shirt even said “WELCOME TO THE MANZONE." I mean, come on. I immediately told him to go fuck himself. Why did I say that? I used to join in on such masculine fun. Why didn't I catcall myself? I was so confused.

My mind went back to that razor. I should have realized I was using a feminine shaving product as soon as I grasped onto the handle: it was firm and smooth to my palm. It had an Aloe Vera strip and protective cushion for god’s sake. Does my chiseled jawline look like its scared of anything sharp? Not what I am used to. I am used to completely obliterating my skin with a series of cheap plastic razors that you buy in packs of a thousand.

The worst part is that I had used the razor to shave my chest hair. I started lactating last week. Normally, I'd be concerned, but then I stumbled upon an abandoned baby in a basket, and I decided to nurture him. I tried to neutralize the situation by high-fiving him — but he held onto my nipple the entire time. I felt sensations I did not think I could feel. I did enjoy bonding with my little fella’ with his cute pink giraffe onesie. I want him to be a painter. But he is a MAN. He can decide what he wants to be someday.

But now I must go to change his diaper.

This is my life now.

Thanks, Gillette Venus Extra Smooth.